#as it eats away at their vermin bodies

[merrysithmas]

god i hate cops

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: rafe cameron x afab maid!reader

cw: titfucking, rimming/ass eating, collaring, power imbalance/dubcon, no real face slapping but reader gets rafe’s rings pressed into their face, gun mentions, rafe talks about wanting to do a line off reader’s tits, throwaway implication that his dad saw you, general rafe-esque warnings 💀, very plotless & possibly ooc (i’m new to the show but i’ve been lurking for a bit), rafe spits on reader, slight dumbification/objectification, hate sex coded but that's more bc i have a love/hate relationship with rafe, he calls reader a bitch once and a also a slut once, use of good girl

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not translate, repost, or give ai my work

kinktober masterlist

This stupid carpet is hell on your knees. Not that there was any time to pull a pillow down under them, you were pulled into the room and shoved down so fast you got dizzy. You’re brought out of your ruminations by a rough palm seizing your face in its grasp and squeezing. 

Rafe huffs, leaning forward to make sure he didn’t miss the way your eyes widened as his fingers tightened. His gaudy rings are going to leave impressions on your cheeks but it’s hard to care about that right now. One second, you’re dusting off the son of your employer’s bedroom, and the next you’re getting a wad of split slung on your face. 

Your pussy decides to be a traitor and clench in response. 

“Sorry ‘bout that………” Rafe trails off, flicking the spit off your cheek like he was picking at a persistent hangnail. 

The apology is as insincere as it could be but something about the bored inflection in his tone gets you wet. 

“It’s fine.” Your “ice princess facade” as he’s called it  falls apart a tad, an embarrassing heat blooming throughout your face. 

He seems satisfied with his attempt at amateur art and scoops the rest up with two of his fingers. He doesn’t ask you to clean them off, just shoves them in between your plump lips without a word. 

“You’re so fuckin’ messy, being such a shitty maid right now, you know that, babe?” He hums, giving your face one final squeeze. 

You’re not even sure he knows your name, he sure doesn’t act like it. All he does is coo at you condescendingly as you suckle on his fingers, telling you how much better you are at this. Once you’ve done an adequate job of polishing them off, he pulls the digits away and gives you a weak love tap. Rafe’s obviously wanting to wring something else out of you. 

You hate that your first instinct is to say “Yes, sir?” 

You also hate that it’s what actually fucking comes out of your mouth. 

The grin that splits his mouth reminds you of the only time you’ve ever successfully caught a mouse in an old fashioned trap. A vermin that used to disgust you until it stayed and you gave it a name. And then your mom has to turn you away from the sight of Jacque’s tiny body cleaved in two. 

“Get those fucking clothes off, now.” He orders you, palming himself through his khakis. "And toys don't talk back."

You roll your eyes and comply. You ignore Rafe's ramblings about how he wished his dad made you wear one of those skimpy made costumes without underwear, that he way he could stare at your pussy whenever you bent over. The door is wide open, you know you could just make a break for it if you wanted. But you kind of like how the humiliation twists your stomach in a knot. The air in the room gets so much hotter when you focus on the large bulge in front of your face.

As soon as your uniform is lying on the hardwood floor in a rumpled heap, your tits are being squished together. Rafe takes several moments to weigh each globe of flesh in his hands.

"Pretty tits, always wondered what they looked like under that stupid uniform. Wanted to make a mess of you so bad but you had to be all fuckin' stuck up and prissy." He hisses, digging his nails into your breasts.

He massages them in circular motions, forcing them to press together like he could cum untouched to the sight of it alone.

You obediently stay silent as you watch Rafe stagger to his feet and wrestle his leather belt out of his pants. His bottom lip is being toyed with to the point that tiny drops of blood are peeking out of the skin. The leather makes a thwack! sound as it passes through the final belt loop and flops around. Rafe continues to eye your tits like a hawk as he wraps the belt around his hand and kneels down to your level.

He tilts your head up with one finger under your chin, "This is going around your neck, okay? I don't have a leash to go with it, but I'll get one for next time."

You open your mouth to speak or maybe to moan at the vision of the expensive leather tensely coiled around your vulnerable neck like a snake about to strike. The warning look he gives you shut you up, but your damp panties made you want to push him further.

"Don't move a muscle."

The belt was warm to the touch, probably because of all the hours Rafe had spent on the golf course or wherever his "business" takes him. You stay perfectly still as he curled it around your neck, having to wrap it around you again due to the length. The metal belt buckle clicked as he fastens it, tugging it firmly to test how tight it was. It definitely feels like a weight baring down on you, but you seem to be able to breathe so he steps back again.

"There we go, pretty bitch just for me."

His pants fall to the ground unceremoniously, revealing the cock you may have had a stray wet dream or two about. Crowned by neatly and clearly obsessively trimmed hair, it looks about 7 inches and thicker than your forearm. His cock has a slight left curve, with a couple prominent veins and an almost reddish-pink colored tip that puffs out at the sides a bit.

Rafe's cockhead catches the drool that embarrassingly leaks out of your mouth, and you kitten lick the slit as you stare up at him through your lashes. You want to smile at the punched-out groan emanating from above you, but he might slap you for getting cocky, it wouldn't be unwelcome.

"You like it, babe? Yeah, I bet you do."

He brings your hands up to your tits and you pick up on what he wants you to do. Anticipating Rafe Cameron's needs is part of your job after all. You scrape the sides of your chipped painted nails against them as you softly cup and squish the globes together, creating a perfect pocket for him.

"Good girl." He chuckles, ruffling your hair like you were his pet.

He savors the wet slide of his cock through the valley of your breasts. You hold them impossibly closer together, ignoring the discomfort by getting lost in the game of peek a boo his tip is playing with you during every thrust. A near constant stream of precum is flowing from the silt and ending up all over the tops of your tits.

Rafe pants as he speeds up his thrusts, his pupils expanding as he takes in the spectacle of you hot dogging him with your tits. For how preppy he likes to act sometimes, he sure does seem to enjoy painting you with his bodily fluids. He weaves his hands down from their deadly hold on your hair to pinch and flick your nipples.

" 'G-gonna cream all over these gorgeous tits, get them messy, then snort some coke off your nipples after.”

It doesn't take as long as a man like him would prefer before he's spilling all over your heaving chest with a sound so inhuman you'd think he was possessed.

You're past caring if he sees you hungrily open your mouth as wide as possible in the hopes of catching some of his cum in your mouth. You grind your sopping wet cunt against the floor when you do, and fuck it tastes better than it has any right to.

A quiet 'shit' rings out and the room spins as you're swiftly flipped on your stomach. Rafe crowds behind you and yanks your hips up. You don't think much of it until you feel warm breath on your ass. You jolt in surprise, and he gives you a light smack on both cheeks before spreading them with his thumb.

"Bet you thought I wanted your pussy, huh? Well, this tiny hole right here looks much cuter, you can't blame me. We'll get you some cute plugs." Followed by a flat tongue licking a stripe over your rim. He gives your hole a strangely soft peck and then teases the tip of his tongue past the entrance.

You squeal, which you'd be mortified by if the sensation of Rafe's tongue filling up your ass didn't feel so good. The way he curls it and jabs it deeper between your cheeks in short busts is running a huge risk of causing you to go insane. It's like he's exploring every nook and cranny, you should be laughing because the man that treats you like a back-alley whore is up to his ears in your ass. His groans and grunts are muffled but they give you the confidence to be louder.

He drags his face away and hangs his tongue over you until a load of saliva drips down onto you. You shiver when it meets your hole. A high-pitched moan comes out when he massages it into the puckered skin with his thumb.

He dots sloppy open-mouthed kisses up and down your rim, nipping the flesh as he goes.

"I would say it's gonna be too tight, but sluts like you can take anything, right?"

You're too busy nodding to notice the sound of shoes hitting the floor in their rush to get away, or that the person wearing them softly closes the door behind them.

[donutz]

Dogday x gn reader angst

Request from Tumblr—! Here you go Dawko-fanpage☆

—☆You are a human in this

Searching around, you always find something interesting.

Like the dead bodies of toys, or blood splatters, a pool? That's something you didn't expect in this place.

One thing you figured out yourself about this place is that it's huge. It's like the square miles of this place is more than Mount Everest!

And even in this hell hole, you still made some friends. Some as in Poppy, Kissy Missy, and a smaller version of Dogday. It jumped on you when you weren't aware, but it didn't try to eat or kill you. It rubbed its head against yours, maybe these tiny critters can actually be cute.

Other than the fact they eat humans and toys.

And have jumped a singular man as a group.

.

.

.

Let's just hope this small Dogday stays innocent.

You were in a somewhat safe spot. These colorful and soft walls kind of distract you from the real world.

You wanted to rest, just for a while.

But something's telling you to go ahead. And the fact there's a murderous purple cat on the loose, hunting you down.

To have you not thinking about it, you pet the small puppy.

Cutely, it stuck its tongue out and started wagging its tail. Even the slightest bit of happiness can comfort you here.

You closed your eyes, resting, thinking about what to do next. When a small head lightly bumped against your stomach, bringing you back to the real world.

“Why'da bump me hm?” The tiny jumped off your lap and went somewhere.

“Oh, wait I don't wanna lose you!” You whisper yelled. You kept your eyes on it, following where it’s going.

You stumble upon an eerie hallway, being suspicious, you scruffed the small Dogday just in case. It tried to get out of your grasp, squirming, “I know you want to just go everywhere, but c’mon at least have some security for yourself.” You said to the tiny critter.

“You! You’re Poppy’s angel!” The rough voice scared you, making you flinch. When you saw the source of the voice, your eyes went wide.

“Come to save us.” The small one stopped squirming and was also looking at the much bigger Dogday. Maybe that’s why it was running over here, to tell you about the suffering life form you never knew about.

“Nothing left to save, not here.” He looked up at you, noticing you had the smaller critters, aka the ones who were eating him bit by little bit.

“...”

He shook his head and resumed his talking, “You’re in Catnap’s home, angel.” But he saw that you were distracted. With talking to the smaller version of him.

“Eat those belts and I’ll give you scratches for the longest time.” You whispered. The smaller Dogday understood and jumped onto Dogday’s arms, he flinched, scared he’ll get hurt again.

“Uhh, continue with what you’re saying, the smaller you is gonna eat away at the belts, don’t worry he’s tamed.”

“... If you say so Angel, You’re in their home. A million pairs of—” Dogday’s left arm was released.

‘Wow he sure is efficient..’ Dogday thought.

“eyes are on you now… Watching, waiting, hungr—” You caught Dogday before he could fully fall on the ground.

“See? Tamed!” You said with a smile as the small Dogday crawled up your arm. “Now, let’s go before all of us get eaten!”

Tiny Dogday crawled into your pocket as the bigger Dogday shifted to your back.

Even with the bigger Dogday being huge, you still managed through. I guess you being here gives you big muscles.

You finally made it outside. And could rest while at it.

“Bigger Dogday, I’m gonna patch you up. I don’t know how to reattach your legs back, but I’ll try to not have your organs nearly fall out.” You stated, assuring that Dogday won’t be in as much pain he’s currently in.

“You don’t need to angel—”

“But I’m gonnaaaa. So stop being so selfless.” You could hear small giggles coming from your pocket.

“What, you think this is funny to you? Huh ya little vermin?” The tiny was still giggling, even louder than before.

You let out a sigh and continued on, Dogday smiled(an actual one) a little from his smaller version.

You found medical supplies and went to work on patching up Dogday, trying to be as careful as you can. He’s been through enough before you even got here.

The tinier Dogday watched your process, jumping from your pocket and rubbing its head against Dogday’s much larger hand. He flinched a bit, but pet his smaller version.

After 15-30 minutes, you were done. “Alright, I’m done!”

“Angel, this is amazing I—!”

You heard the familiar sound of metal scratching against a floor. Oh come on, you can’t get a little bit of rest?! It was the Prototype, you thought he only comes near you if you killed somebody! And Dogday nor his smaller version is dead.

So, why is he here?

Well, you either defend yourself with your life, or sacrifice it or something. Though the hand most likely knew some moves, you still need to defend the two puppies that are behind you.

You’ve done the impossible so you can do this right?

Wrong! (＾▽＾)

The Prototype’s sharp and metallic fingers were plunged into your heart.

“ANGEL NO!” (I don’t know how to make this seem serious, I’m just here💀)

His hands were removed from your heart, though he didn’t take your body to build himself(that’s what I headcanon) maybe you weren’t worthy enough.

Prototype was looking for Dogday, but fortunately, he was nowhere to be seen, neither was his smaller version.

He needed to search, to find him, but— he doesn’t feel like it right now. So he left. Leaving you to die, maybe.

Who knows?

You can always do the impossible.

[pinknipszz]

“hello sweet precious,” you croon at the warm bundle in your arms. hardly three weeks old, it fusses a little when you lift the sand-washed silk to gush over its bonny face. “i wish i could keep you forever. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

the summertime sun is your company—aside from the newborn babe and your ichor-stained husband, who meditates beside you on the decorated blanket with his legs crossed, an ankle over his shin in quarter lotus. the air is thick with the smell of fresh-cut fruit. there is sake too, brewed in oak barrels, courtesy of uraume.

you lean over the edge to pluck a white iris from the earth. a wail comes from underneath you at the sudden movement, but you hush it quickly and say: “this flower makes for exquisite perfumes that smell sweet and slightly herbaceous. i want to wrap you in silk that is exactly this color.” 

roused from his thoughts, your husband cracks an eye open, leering. “do not waste any more energy on that wretched vermin.” his voice rumbles in the cavity of his cruel, muscle-bound body, each word punctuated by equal amounts of scorn. “it does not matter what kind of silk you wrap it in, wife. i will get rid of it later.”

you huff and turn your sweeping gaze over the vast expanse of scattered flowers. right. you did not give birth to the thing in your arms—a servant did. a foolish one who had slept with the arborist who trims your chestnut trees, or so uraume had told you over barley tea. you had been delighted; your husband, not so much. 

but a small part of the king of curses is still human, still weak to the whims of his darling wife, so he let you keep the parasite that had been propagated by his bastard servants. you lean against his imposing figure and sigh woefully. something must have changed his mind. “will you bring it back to its parents?” 

a large tongue peaks through the gash in his stomach as he settles into a more comfortable position, picking up a plate of tangerines and throwing a few slices into his mouth. you watch him bite into the soft flesh with sharp teeth, already copper-stained from his recent venture. “no,” he says. “i will eat it.”

you understand him, then, and peer up into the sky. your vision burns a bit just to see the summertime sun perched perpendicular to the horizon, high above maple trees where kodama and kitsune come alive. when a plump slice is brought to your lips, you briefly wonder if tangerine tea would pair well with iris.

a question dances on the tip of your tongue, and your husband, in all of his omniscience, seizes it with a searing kiss before you can lock it away and throw the key. you cannot help but mirror the wicked grin on his face.

(masterlist) | (a/n: morally gray reader ig? anyways the baby doesnt have a specific gender but there were subtle hints that it was a boy if anyone caught them. also there was more to this but I got lazy. rip!) tag: @lem-hhn

[nina-renmen]

Bloodied Love

Yandere Homelander x supe reader pt.1

Summary: He never expected to have a soulmate. His mark was never there, so what happens once it appears where you touched him? A girl like you, not even human. You fed off of his kind, but that dosn’t deter him from the horrors he has planned. You deprived him of your love, and now he won’t let go of you…even if he has to kill you.

Warnings: This is a Yandere fic so there will be blood, gore, ect. There will be nsfw themes and scenes in here as well as drugging and other things. Reader is not a human but she’s a water and air spirit called a Nokken. Reader has a hatred for humans

A mysterious dark figure has yet again saved the city once more. Could this be a new hero on the rise? Stay tuned for more-“ 

A [skin color] hand pressed the big red button on the dainty remote. Though her strength was controlled she almost crushed it. “Looks like someone’s getting famous.” Y/n looked away from the black screen and towards her friend. Her milky white eyes began shifting back into their natural [eye color] shade. “I guess.” Y/n mumbled. Her sharp claws slowly retracting. Almost like bear claws. “Dosn’t really matter when we have hero’s killing innocent civilians.” Y/n stated, standing up she towered over her friend, “You know Ivan…I’m not even sure if this hero thing is what I want.” 

The shorter male who at the time was drinking a glass of wine had choked on the bitter substance. His black soulmate mark seemed to jump as he shifted quickly. The dark red liquid running down his chin as he scrambled to wipe it away. “What?! How come?” Ivan asked, his honey brown eyes widened. “It’s not because of that accident right?! Because if that’s it you should know that it’s not knew-“ 

“Thats the problem…I-“ Y/n paused as her radio began to go off. Signaling an attack. Ivan tilted his head towards the door as he looked down at y/n’s outfit. “You’re still in your suit. Best get going.” He said in a fatherly tone. Y/n smile but scoffed in order to cover it up. She walked out the front door. Her body taking her towards the site immediately.

She could still feel his blood on her. The blood of her comrades she worked with, the blood of Ivan. The gaze of his blood still lingered in his mouth. There was nothing left, only his half eaten head that lie in the ground. A horrified expression laid on his dead face. She didn’t feel that urge anymore. That burning sensation that told her to eat, eat, eat. 

She knew she didn’t want to. He gave her no choice!! He was out for her blood! He was out for her abilities! She was just big game to him. A long cat and mouse game that she was oblivious to playing. A bounty on her head! He only wanted the money, he was like all the other rotten humans in this world! All the dirty, disgusting, vermin-

A single drop was able to knock her from her thoughts. And then the camera flashing began as she stood at the foot of the plane. American press were taking pictures of her. Fans screamed her name, but y/n’s smile had not reached her eyes. For she held no pleasure in standing before these people. Her mother country, Brazil had sent their number one hero to help America. A oncoming agreement came from the two countries and a treaty was made. America gives them resources and money and they gave up…..her. But that did not mean she would abandon her past. Even if she were to live here for a few years before going back home. 

“[Hero Name]! How does it feel to be on American soil?!” One of the interviewers asked, shoving their mics in her face. They don’t really care, they wanted the money. They all only wanted money. 

Y/n’s eyes trailed down to meet the woman’s eyes. A flash of nervousness appeared within her irises. Her green eyes meeting y/n’s milky white ones. Y/n tilted her head to the side, examining if she even wanted to speak with the woman. “It feels just like home.” Y/n finally spoke up, flashing a polite smile towards the smaller woman. She stood at a tall height of 5’8, her form taller than most women she knew, and yet smaller than most men. 

“[hero name]! Can you describe your powers of being a Nokken?!” Another reporter questioned. Y/n’s hand twitched but no one batted an eye. They probably didn’t even notice. “A magician never reveals her tricks.” Y/n said in a happy tone. That same eye catching smile was forever carved in her face. And yet again her eyes did not match. But of course no human cared. Humans were easily deceived, they were easily eaten- 

‘Dont think like that.’ Y/n thought to herself. And almost immediately the attention was finally directed off of her. “It’s homelander!” A random person states the obvious. Y/n attempted to slink away but a strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. “Thank you for the love! But I wanted to welcome in the new hero everyone’s been raving about!” The blue eyed man exclaimed. Y/n made no attempt to look up at him, for she knew that if she did she might as well be provoked to hit him. And she doubted that would do anything. “Smile.” Homelander whispered but the muscles in y/n’s face remained locked in. A neutral expression on her face as she made eye contact with reporters. She wouldn’t be a fraud like the man above her was. 

“Thank you for the warm welcome but I best be going homelander. Maybe we’ll cross paths again.” Y/n says loud enough for the reporters to hear as y/n smiles and begins to be escorted out of the airport.

The cool air hit her. Rain drops fell from the sky, turning her once [skin color] skin into a sickly grey. Her hair turning into an inky black color. She was not only a water based supe but an air one as well. The combination brought on many fans and onlookers that wished to be her. Or dispise her. 

“You left in a hurry.” That same familiar voice echoed throughout the empty streets. People were off the roads due to the storm. Y/n looked over her shoulder, this time her milky white eyes meeting his bright blue ones. “Was I supposed to linger?” Y/n questioned, turning her body towards him. She stood tall, her form didn’t look weak. 

“Not necessarily, just….unusual.” He replied. “Usually supes stick around to talk to the number one hero in the world.” 

“In America.” Y/n replied, slightly cutting him off. 

“Pardon?” He questioned. The smile on his face was fake. It didn’t reach his eyes, it looked like a mask. A horrible one at that. 

“You are the number one hero in America. Who’s to say the world when you haven’t even stepped out of it before?” Y/n questioned. Homelander gave y/n an annoyed look. “Anyway Mr retriever, I best get going.”

”Mr retriever?” Homelands questioned, he took off one of his gloves in order to get the water out of it. 

“You look like one.” Y/n spoke as she patted his arm whilst walking past him. Homelandee furrowed his eyebrows. Who does this girl think she is? He’s number one- 

The blonde haired male could feel a burning sensation on his forearm. He glanced down, not thinking it’d be anything only for his eyes go linger the name, y/n l/n was imbedded into his arm. His eyebrows furrowed, whose name was this? As realization began to sink in that this was his soulmates name…where ever she was he’d find her.

[toxintouch]

Deicide - the killing (or the killer) of a god. Vere x Reader/Unspecified MC. ✦Read on AO3

VERE: DEICIDE

“Fuck fairness. Life’s not fair.”

If life were fair, this would all have happened differently. In a different time. Long before Eridia was even a smear on the maps, back when he wandered the world as a deity. With fresh air in his lungs and sweet blood on his teeth. He'd track the tantalizing scent of you for days once he'd caught it on the wind. His mouth would water at just the echo of your taste; perhaps he'd have to stop for a snack just to keep his palate from tingling.

(But then–the lutist hadn't tasted of you at all, though the delightful promise of you had been heady–vibrant–thrilling to all of his senses. He'd dined on the composition of your suffering, the warm fear in your breath, the quick jump of your pulse beneath his fingertips. He'd kept the taste of you on his tongue, but still, he couldn't chase it fast enough to be satisfied indulging in another.)

He'd wreak havoc on the world to find you. Hunt you.

Let the people who hid you from him stew in terror at his approach. He'd eat a hundred unsatisfying appetizers just to bring the stench of death to those who dared...

Vere would demand you. Cast his shadow on your little shithole of a village and bear his teeth until they hand you over to him.

(And fuck. The way you'd smell up close–the new intricacies he could discern when he loomed over you, his snout bigger than your body. Would you tremble for him, would you fall to your knees?)

Vere should be your object of worship, your every thought and fear and desire, but instead he begs you for scraps. He twines pretty words around you when his chain is loose enough to reach. He tempts. He enraptures you with silky promises when you should be his by right.

Hundreds of years he's wandered looking for a counterpart, some hidden corner of his soul hopelessly devoted to the thought of a kindred spirit– not quite Human, not quite Monster.

You've been owed to him since his lonesome birth. He's ached for your presence ever since that first betrayal, a stinging knife lodged in the soft flesh between his ribs.

 Oh, but he'd have been a kind god to you. Eventually. But you? Selfish, loathsome, greedy little thing. Forever playing keep-away,

( –defiant eyes and quivering lips, in the damp corner behind the Wet Wick, cloying smell drowning out the odor of vermin– )

content to consume his thoughts and mind, ask all your questions and give nothing back.

He's been starving for you for so long. The least you could do is let him take a bite.

[sapphim]

"Have you ever fought darkspawn before?" the head Warden, Duncan, asks—which Micah supposes must be what passes for small talk among Grey Wardens. He's watching her with those dark eyes of his and the thoughtfully serious look Micah is coming to realize is his typical expression.

"Mmm. A couple. Not supposed to hunt in the tunnels but, you know." She shrugs pointedly. "And sometimes you find a vein of something nice the miners haven't quite cleaned out yet, if you're looking. 'Course, you see eyes looking at you in the dark about yea high—" she gestures with her hand around head high (her head, anyway) "—and that means you run like the ceiling's caving in on your sorry ass, 'cause there's usually more where that came from."

"I've never seen anything crawling around in the Deep Roads that looks even a little bit edible," says another Warden. Ronald? Randall? One of the clean-shaven ones. She has got to get their names down. From where she's standing the humans may as well all be "the very tall guy" and "that other also very tall guy," which isn't even a little bit helpful for keeping them straight.

"Doesn't matter how edible it looks, you're hungry enough," she says. "Vermin, you know? Rats, nugs, deepstalkers..."

"Bet those taste foul."

"I'll eat a deepstalker. I'm not a coward," says another Warden (the extra big one nearly swallowed up by his own bushy beard), like it's a competition. For all she knows, maybe it is.

"You'll eat anything, Gregor." A few wardens chuckle at that. A shared joke she's not privy to.

"When the nobles go out on their expeditions, you know, they'll only be graced by the presence of the great warrior caste. But when it's just the warriors—not the miners, they don't want you to know where the good stuff is hiding—sometimes they'll hire on dusters as extra bodies. The pay's not awful, if you don't mind the maybe not coming home part." Micah kicks at a rock, and it skitters between their feet and out ahead of them. It aches, she thinks. Her face, for sure, as well as every other part of her body—but mostly her heart. She puts that thought away again.

"I tried to hire on one, once. I can swing a pick and shift rocks around or whatever they want done, right? And I'm mean with a knife. But they were real weird about it. Like they thought I was gonna hike up my skirts—skirts which, I don't think I have to tell you, I wasn't wearing, by the way—and proposition them to put a baby in me while we were down there."

She lets out a short, sharp humorless laugh. "Can you imagine? 'Course, I was younger then but, believe me, just as ugly. But they got weird ideas about brands, you know. Some of 'em they look at you and all they see is a cunt."

No smart response to that, she notes. One of the Wardens—the young one, she thinks, bringing up the rear—clears his throat awkwardly, and she can hear him wince as the sound echoes around the tunnel.

"Even after your exceptional showing in the proving?" Duncan asks, and she looks up from her feet to find him watching her with that same steady gaze, unperturbed. "What do you think it was that they saw in you then?"

Micah coughs, reaches up to rub at her nose—still busted all to fuck and hurts like it too—better to rub at the back of her neck instead. "Dunno," she says, looking away. "Been busy with, you know. Haven't had time to think yet." She wonders if he saw the swell of pride she felt when their eyes had met. Exceptional, he'd said—damn right she was.

"You're, uh..." That's young Warden again. "You—yes, you're a very impressive fighter. We were all impressed... obviously. But also you're. Not ugly."

Surprised, she laughs again, a much nicer sounding sound than before. "You're real sweet, kid, but I know what I look like. Well, actually—" She feels the swollen lump of her nose again, more gingerly this time. "I haven't had a chance to check out the new damage yet, but I know I look like I've been kicked in the face repeatedly, 'cause that's exactly what happened."

Micah aims a grin over her shoulder at him, and hopes whatever that does to her busted up face looks more friendly than frightful. The kids—she can't help but think of them as kids, the young Warden and the other new recruit, the elven mage—have been trailing behind at the rear of the group since they left Orzammar. She hasn't seen enough humans and elves to feel confident guessing the age of any of the others but these two don't look like they could possibly be much older than the girls—and thinking about her nieces twists painfully in her chest in a way that makes it hard to breathe and almost impossible to keep walking forward. Away. So she's been taking one step at a time and trying not to think about. Well.

"Nothin' wrong with being ugly, anyway. Some people just are. And I'd hate to be pretty." She runs a hand through her short shorn hair, then down to feel the at this point probably week-old bristle growing on her jaw. Never was fond of dealing with a headful of hair. "Those girls got their own problems to worry about."

"How do you cook a deepstalker, anyway?" asks the Warden from earlier. "They've gotta be nothing but skin and bones. And, you know, the teeth."

"Still hung up on that, Rondall?" chides another.

"I'm just curious."

"Dunno," Micah says. "Rica—my niece—won't let me do the cooking anymore." One foot in front of the other. "So consider that your warning, if you're expecting to get a hot meal outta me."

"We'll find out if you're as bad as Alistair when it's your turn in the rotation, then." ("Hey!" the young one—must be Alistair—interjects at that.)

"Hey, new kid, can you cook?" asks the big bushy one. Greg? Greg something.

Micah glances back at the new kid, his bright eyes wide with alarm at having been abruptly singled out. They glitter like gems in the dark. "Uh," he says. "I've never tried?"

"Oh boy," says one.

"We're really in for it," says another.

"Do you think they just magic it up out of thin air or what?" muses a third.

"Would you all remember that we presently have a job to do?" Duncan reproves, but he sounds amused.

"What job? Tarimel's on point. Hey, Tarimel, any darkspawn up there?"

"No darkspawn," the elven Warden confirms. Not the recruit, mage kid, but the scout with the bow. Easier to keep track of when there's only two of them. Neither all that chatty, either. Unlike the humans.

"See? No darkspawn yet. Job covered."

"That's strange though, yeah? Should have met resistance by now."

"What, this close to Orzammar?"

"Exactly this close to Orzammar. They're always trying to raid it. Isn't that right, Duncan?"

Micah lets the Wardens talk—Duncan saying something about the Legion of the Dead, now—and lags behind to walk with the youngsters.

"—any darkspawn, just stick close with me," the kid (Alasdair?) is saying quietly to the young mage, who nods glumly. He winces in pain with every step, Micah can see now that she's looking, leaning on that staff of his for support.

The young Warden (oh, that's right, it's Alistair) perks up when he notices her approach. "Sorry I called you pretty back there," he says with a cheeky grin, clearly having found his footing. "Won't happen again." Oh, she does like him.

"You know, I don't think that you did call me pretty."

"Oh, I guess I didn't. Well you look like you got trampled by a rabid bronto, so there's that."

"Stone," she groans, "feels like it too."

"I could do something for that," the mage says, "uh, when we rest."

You should look to yourself first, she wants to say. Instead she says, "Uh, thanks, maybe. Like... magic stuff, right?" She's not clear about the magic stuff.

"I was training as a spirit healer, in the Circle," the kid says. "Before..." He trails off.

Yeah. Before.

"Those... aren't new boots you've got there?" she asks, to change the subject. They're thoroughly worn, but he's grimacing with every step.

"Well, they're Tarimel's boots, is the problem," Alistair tells her.

"Got it," she says. "Do mages uh." She's vastly out of her depth here. "Do they... not wear shoes?" She heard something like that once, she thinks. Or was it... elves? Probably not.

"We're not allowed to go anywhere," the kid says, which isn't exactly an answer.

"And now you're in the Deep Roads," Alistair chips in, sardonically. "Yay."

"Yay," the mage sighs, with even less feeling. "I liked Orzammar better."

"Yeah, kid, me too," Micah says quietly.

"Sorry."

She sighs. "Don't be. Not your fault."

"Micaaaaah," Alistair drawls. "Do you keep calling us kid because you don't remember our names?"

Stone, Micah thinks. It was Alistair, right? "I remember one of your names," she says. Probably.

"Ooh, which one? Prove it. Say one of our names right now."

"My name's Rafael," says Rafael.

"Dammit, Raf," says Alistair.

"Thank you, Rafael," Micah says, pointedly polite. "My name's Micah. It's good to meet you." And then, because she is feeling quite a bit more cheerful than she was just a few minutes ago, she adds, "And don't be a shit, Alistair."

[jolenes-doppelganger]

hiii, i was wondering if you’d be willing to do a continuing of your rose the hat one shot, maybe where reader pays off her debt? ;) or literally anything with rose / rebecca, i’m sooo obsessed with her and ur fic made me go feral it was amazing !!

[Hi Anon! I originally didn’t consider making a second part to the fic, (I just like the vagueness of one shots), but I am happy to write a second story involving similar themes. We’ll call it a multiverse addition. :3 Thank you for the request!]

Belligerent Collector

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Summary: A chance meeting at a supermarket with a specialized clairvoyant brings Rose more than she could ask for. A little too much. [Shifting POVs].

Warnings: Depictions of straight sex between Rose and Crow (oral M and F receiving/giving, 69), one slap (R receiving), choking, depictions of attempted SA, overly emotional for a smut fic, lesbian smut (oral R receiving, strap on use, strap sucking R giving, forced deepthroating, Rose uses a set of vibrating panties to get off), a wee bit dub-con for good measure

A/N: Author pushes her writing boundaries in the name of character authenticity!!! No I’ve never had straight sex, no I don’t want to have straight sex, but boy oh boy, Rose has and will continue to fuck our little corvid boy, and you bet the mattress has some stories to tell. (I promise it ties in!!! It’s very brief!!!).

Word Count: 5.6k

Waking up in a foreign environment had always felt strange. Waking up in a foreign environment in a dream, only to wake once more in reality made realities blend together. Were you really in the rundown motor home of your Grandma’s in Dallas or were you in the divinely furnished home of some elite posing as a trailer park beauty? Then memories… Oh fuck, the memories.

“Rosie, the kid is barely even a kid, not worth eating at this point.” Crow lamented.

“Oh, for fucks sake, she’s not a kid, she’s an adult, let’s just call her that.” Rose spit back, crossing her arms over her bra covered breasts.

“Okay, fine. The adult-kid, this little overgrown shrimp, can see us coming from miles away. We wouldn’t even know about her if you hadn’t brushed her hand in a supermarket.”

Rose rolled her eyes, or more so you felt the motion of her rolling her eyes. These were her memories after all, and you were living them through her eyes.

“The rube brushed my hand, and she brushed right through my train of thought. She skimmed my mind, Crow! She skimmed my mind!”

Rose felt many things in this particular memory. Anger, a sense of deep humiliation, or more so violation. Rose felt that she had been violated by the little bitch child, a half-adult. The little half-ling had brushed her hand reaching for a lane divider for the conveyor belt of the grocery store, and had managed to skim her mind doing so. Like it hadn’t even been a forethought. She read the inner monologue of Rose the motherfucking Hat like it was as simple as brushing her hand in the first place!

“I want her dead.” Rose blurted. “Not just because she’s a little steamier than normal for her age, but because she read my mind. And now she knows who I am, she knows what I do, and she’s an adult, Crow!”

“-And since she’s an adult she has the authority and the ability to cause more problems than a kid, blah, blah, blah, I get it!” Crow cut her off.

Through Rose’s eyes, the bare-chested man was neither handsome nor appealing. He was a fucking vermin. One that had been latching on to Rose like an overgrown calf, sucking her dry; patience, charity, her damned sex drive all dried up like a desert.

“Out.”

The memory ended there, and with it came a brief reprieve, but brief. Another one of Rose’s memories slammed right into your head, the intensity of it hitting you hard. The last memory had been triggered by the touch of the sheets under your fingertips. This memory by the weight your body exerted on the mattress.

I need to breathe, oh fuck I need to breathe-

“Rosie baby, you taste so fucking good.” Crow moaned, sliding up, his dick sliding out of Rose’s mouth.

Rose sputtered, taking in mouthfuls of air. She laughed once she could, wiggling her hips enticingly. A mouth came down on her open entrance once more, tongue rolling wet circles over it; the way she liked it best. It was a 69, Rose was on the bottom because they were trying something new. Rose opened her mouth again, breathing in deep before guiding Crow’s hips down again.

The angle forced her to deepthroat him in his entirety, without exerting too much pressure on her uvula. She felt him licking and kissing her open pussy, moaning into her as she swirled her tongue at the base of his dick. It was the closest to breath play Rose was willing to go, and even as tears streamed down her cheeks, jaw aching at the stretch and gag reflex struggling against her higher will, it was fun.

The memory was ripped away, and you shot up as fast as you could, desperately trying to get away from the unwelcome memories that kept springing upon you. Never before in your life had someone's memories been so vibrant, so stubborn to be heard. You felt humiliation, no, violation. These mental images springing upon you without warning, without a trigger other than touch were akin to being violated. Usually you had more control over your abilities, you didn't have the ability to so easily peruse someone's mind, but with Rose it was like you weren't even trying. Well you weren't. Clairvoyance was an entirely conscious effort, at least it always had been. But Rose? Her mind and memories jumped open. It wasn't like a book sliding off a shelf, or a book falling open, no. It was like the books were violently flying off the shelves, ripping themselves open and shoving your face into them.

"Didn't I tell you to get out already?" Rose sighed, setting the book down she'd been reading.

Andy appeared, worrying her lip like a frightened child. Well... Hadn't she been a teen? Rose couldn't remember, age was pointless anyways. Whether she was 32 or 15, she'd look young with a fresh batch of steam in her.

"But.. I thought-"

"It was a one-time thing. My man is coming home today, and I'm not in the mood to pull apart a cat fight." Rose huffed.

This was the morning after she'd turned Andy, the night after she'd eaten the little blonde's pussy again and again until the young woman's body gave up on pleasure entirely. And waking up after that power trip, that victory for the Knot, it put things into perspective. But regardless, she was being a little too harsh on the newcomer.

"Put your clothes on, and come over here."

The blonde wasn't special, like Rose thought. A glorified pillow princess. And the blonde did have an ability that would benefit the Knot, but Rose was hungry now. She'd given Andy her own damn steam, her own life force. Sure, it had been fun, but not fulfilling.

"Why?" Andy whispered, sliding into Rose's open arms.

Rose groaned, sliding her hat over her head. She had her pair of two day old panties on, nothing else. She looked good, as always, but she was tired.

"Because it just can't. It was fun, it was something we could share, but I'm not available. I can get away with one night, one little welcome for the newbie, but I can't justify more than that to my Crow Daddy." Rose sympathetically explained. "You'll find another, there's plenty of youngins in the Knot still. Silent Sarry, for one."

Andy stared down at her feet. Rose watched her large brown eyes fill up with tears. Then she jerked her head, willing them away. A tough cookie, Rose thought. She'd get over this.

"Can I hug you goodbye, at least?" Andy whispered, looking at the floor still.

Rose chuckled at this, pulling the girl in for a gentle hug, followed by the softest kiss she was capable of giving.

"There. Now chin up, go have breakfast with the others. You're True now, you're family."

As Andy gently closed the door behind her, Rose let out a soft sigh, drawing patterns over the floor with her toe.

You dropped to your knees, clutching your head. It was painful, exerting this much energy into viewing her memories, even if it was completely against your will. You'd been in and out of consciousness for... You couldn't be sure. Time had lost all meaning. You were bombarded by memories until your body succumbed to exhaustion, only to wake up and be subjected to more memories. Rose's memories.

You knew her better than yourself at this point.

"Ah, you're actually conscio-"

Rose carried the little rube to her trailer, smirking as the girl twitched spasmodically.

"Bit off more than you can chew there, huh? Too greedy? Viewed too many memories at once?" Rose taunted, watching the young woman as she continued to twitch, her eyes wildly fluttering as her eyeballs roved around beneath her closed eyelids.

"God, she's like the dying." Barry the Chunk commented.

Rose laughed at that. Her fingers were frozen in twisted shapes, like the claw of the arthritic hands of the elderly. It was nothing like Grandpa Flick's nasty rheumatoid arthritis, but it was comparable.

"Well, that's what happens when someone gets too big for her britches." Rose smirked, hauling the girl right atop her bed. "She'll stay here under my watch until she can maintain conscious-

"Oh god, make it stop!" you cried out, clutching your head as it throbbed dangerously.

You were so tired, so hungry, and thirsty beyond belief. Nothing about this place was welcoming enough to allow you even a split second of rest and relaxation. Out of the corner of your eye, a ring covered hand came forward, reaching out to touch you.

"Don't touch me!" you shouted, voice dry and ragged.

Rose raised an eyebrow, looking at you quizzically. It was one of the few times you'd seen her. And unlike the mirrored effect you were used to viewing her in, the only perspective of herself she had, you were looking at her in the present, through your eyes.

"So now you're calling the shots? Oh, well excuse me." Rose let out an annoyed laugh.

You were scared to breathe, waiting for another memory to suddenly implode over you, but none came.

"I just... I'm tired. And if I move, if I shift my weight over the damn floor I might get another memory."

Rose cocked a brow.

"Get another memory? What, you can sense the memory of objects?"

You hesitantly nodded. Rose let out an intrigued sniff, but that's the only reaction she gave. You had been in her head long enough to understand what her different mannerisms meant. It gave you an advantage, being able to read her so.

"So... You've been reliving whose memories?" Rose asked, brow raised in that calculating critique.

Stern, that's what she was. This was Rose being stern.

"Yours. Only yours."

Rose's nose twitched in immediate disgust and disgraced anger.

"Not by choice," you butted in, trying to calm the storm before it began to brew much farther, "I keep passing out from exhaustion because I can't figure out how to stop viewing the memories. I'm tired, I've had enough of your thoughts and memories and..."

You cut yourself off. The next words out of your mouth would have been 'hedonistic escapades', or worse, 'sexcapades'. Rose eyed you dangerously, neither really believing or listening to your plight.

"Too big for my britches, crude violator, shrimp, halfling, rube, bitch-child," you listed, "I know. And I know too much. I don't want to know, I-"

You cut yourself off, pausing before you reenacted Irina Spalko's inversed lament. This could be something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you supposed. Rose had the special, magical hat after all.

"So, what. I don't care if you do or don't want to read my thoughts-"

"Memories-"

The slap that landed across your cheeks stung, and for the first time since meeting Rose, you were stunned. Slapping someone wasn't something the woman did. She was zealously cruel, calculatingly wicked, manipulating, hateful, over-indulgent and sadistic, but the woman didn't hit people. To lose herself in such a motion would surely seem overdone, by her standards.

"Shut your mouth." Rose seethed.

It was anger. Pure, unbridled, raging fury that caused her hands to shake. You'd never gotten a memory from Rose where she was so angry. Her trailer wasn't a place where she let negative emotions hang about, and that's why it was her safe place.

"You have the audacity to interrupt me when I'm speaking to you? You've been leaching off of me for weeks while I tracked you, reading not just my thoughts, but re-living my memories, and you have the fucking gall to interrupt me?" Rose spit, hands reaching up and choking, squeezing your windpipe.

It was an ego wound, you realized. She was bitter because her ego was being trodden all over by someone who'd been in her head for as long as you had. It was simple, in essence. You knew her. Intimately. More intimately than anyone else. In all of Rose's glory and power, you were interrupting her like any other individual regardless of the fact that you knew her. Knew what she could do, knew what she was.

"I don't even want your steam anymore, I just want to watch you die."

Your stomach lurched, and a memory slammed so violently into your skull that it didn't have somewhere else to go. You grabbed onto Rose's wrists, pulling her down the rabbit hole with you.

"Fucking Rube!" Malte wheezed, hands clinging to Rose's wrists.

Rose was shaking, her hands were shaking. The man beneath her wiggled like a squirrel caught in a trap, his eyes bulging violently, the whites of them rolling wildly. Rose was scared shitless, squeezing harder on instinct, even as the man beneath her slapped at her arms, trying to pull the young teen's hands off him.

He'd tried to rape her. He'd lured her into a street corner, promising her cash if she hiked up her skirts for him. She'd agreed to do so, she needed the money to feed her family. But she'd misheard him, or more accurately, had misunderstood him. The English these American foreigners spoke didn't cling to her Irish tongue easily. That and the structure of the English language was hard. It didn't match up with her native tongue. Combined with a day working in the filthy factories of Jersey had rubbed her hands and mind raw, so "Lift your skirt" meant to quite literally lift your skirt, no other motive or hidden arrangement. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old girl, but he had been stronger. Malte, the son of the factory owner, descended from Dutch immigrants who settled in Delaware, well before it was called Delaware had his eye on her. And he'd shoved her up against the brick wall of the factory, pawing at the front of his trousers, trying to bury himself between her legs as she tried to politely get him to stop.

But Rose was tired. And there was no direct translation for 'no' in her native language, and she couldn't remember the English word for it, so all her words were mixes of jumbled Irish phrases, none of which he interpreted correctly until she struck him between the legs.

His mouth was starting to froth. And the more pressure she exerted on his neck, the more afraid she got. If she killed him, oh god, if she killed him she could ruin her own life, the life of her family. They'd starve, they'd have nothing left to eat. She reached for the first strewn article of clothing she could grab. A top hat, the expensive satin lined kind, one that could fetch enough food for her family if she sold it. Food, eat, live long, stay young... Eat well, live long, stay young...

<------------->

Rose was crying. Sobbing like a fourteen-year-old child all over again. And the body underneath her was seizing, twitching and letting out garbled sounds. Rose grabbed the body, hugging it to her chest with possessive neediness. She needed physical contact, she needed that reassurance. The memory viewing had ended there, but Rose's memories filled in afterwards. She'd run home, falling into her overburdened mother's arms, sobbing and whimpering like her infant brother, still latched on her mother's breast. Her father had been furious, her mother scared. They were all scared in the perpetual twilight of Rose's memory.

Malte had never pressed charges. Whether it was pride or some other vice that compelled him to stay silent about the assault, he never did speak a word of it to anyone. But Rose found that her hours were cut back, her position was regularly filled before she had made it to her station. She looked for other work, worrying over the little bump that grew inside her mother. Worrying about food, about money, about the things that they needed to stay alive, let alone stock up to build their American dream.

"Tá brón orm." she sobbed into the girl's hair. "I'm sorry." she repeated.

Because Rose wasn't holding the rube girl anymore, she was holding a mirror of her younger self.

<------------>

Waking up for the upteenth time was more exhausting than being awake itself. Your head swum with too many thoughts, the mind's way of catching up after being unconscious. Someone was petting your hair, little strokes and teases that pulled at your scalp menacingly.

"We have a debt." Rose murmured. "My people are hungry, and they're going to go hungry because you're not on the menu any longer."

Her words rolled over your head in weary waves, peddling meanings over the valleys of your brain until they slowly sunk in, stringing together cohesive ideas once more.

"And why does that mean I have a debt with you?"

Rose gave the hairs at your scalp a tug, raising an eyebrow as she looked at you seriously.

"Because what I say goes, honey pie."

You closed your eyes, nodding in defeat. The light hurt, everything hurt.

"Got any more memories to view? I have millions, my mind is a cathedral."

You fought back the urge to mouth the words along with her. You knew her little cliches too well.

"I don't think so. The last memory was pushing others out of the way until it could be seen."

The logic behind that theory was imbued with a hidden clarity that had come from somewhere in your unconscious mind. The memories would stop jumping in front of your eyes again.

"Okay, well, you owe me. I'm keeping you alive because you're useful. Clairvoyance is a gift, we don't have a lot of True with such wide sensors as you."

Leaning forward felt like the next best thing with your head throbbing so violently. A soft little 'mmph' left your lips as you did so.

"You're not listening..." Rose said in sing-song fashion.

"Brain hurts."

Rose snorted at this.

"So eloquent. Truly, you should write novels with your linguistic prowess."

You let out another grunt in response.

"Its like talking to a caveman." Rose muttered.

She brought a cup of something to your lips. Tea. You drank it, not really caring that it was lukewarm and half full. It was liquid.

"Not picky. I'll add that to your list of positives."

You eyed her wearily.

"And let me guess, all the negatives include the fantasies of me you can't have because I know you too well."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, momentarily stunned.

"Well. I do have plans for you in the physical department. Crow and I are fizzling out, it might be time to break in a new lover."

She said it so confidently, in a fashion that made it almost unbearably flirtatious.

"You're wondering how good my head game is."

Rose laughed, a stunned kind of bark that caused her chest to jiggle, the swell of her breasts unencumbered beneath her t-shirt.

"Oh god, you're hysterical. I mean yes, but you make me sound so blunt. So, collected." Rose snickered. "I can be blunt, and I certainly try to be..."

Rose trailed off, eyeing you carefully.

"Kiss me."

It was a command that cut through your tired brain. She caught your head as you leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting on your back. Rose pulled away after the short kiss, seemingly a little vexed by something.

"How much... How much experience do you have? You kiss like a petrified boy."

You blushed profusely, even though embarrassment in your exhausted state was difficult to even feel.

"I'm tired. Not in the mood."

Rose sighed, nodding at that statement.

"Fine. We'll nurse you back to health before the turn, get you all spick and span. But right before then... You and I are going to sort out this little debt situation we have going on. And then we'll see if you survive the turn."

The thought made your stomach queasy. You were between hell and a hard place. Become like her or die.

"What if I'd prefer being on the menu?"

"Not a lesbo?" Rose teased.

"Not a child eater."

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning in closer as she gripped your hips tight. She kissed your neck chastely.

"Eat well, live long, stay young."

You found yourself looking up at the ceiling, almost willing another memory to intrude, an excuse to pull away from this aggravating situation, but nothing.

"I'd like the luxury of just being normal."

Rose laughed at this, a genuine laugh.

"Whoever told you reading minds was normal. God, you're positively hysterical. I want to make a miniature you and stick her in my hat."

You crossed your arms, perusing the trailer for any signs of food, like a mouse. A little mouse caught in the cat's trap.

"I'll feed you, but first you need to give me a proper kiss." Rose whispered, breath tickling your earlobe.

As if you had anything on your mind other than food. Rose was pushing at your boundaries, playing with you and molding you into a state somewhere between desperate and stubbornly defiant. You leaned in, but you paused. You were coming on too strong. This needed to be natural, not forced. But it was forced, that was the paradox. Leaning in again, slowly, you met her grey eyes, taking a deep breath in. Your hands you drew up to her face, thumbs gently rubbing over the hollow of her cheeks. Rose leaned in, eyeing you with predatory intent.

"Good." she whispered. "You're getting somewhere."

You leaned in even further, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her lip, catching her gaze with hers. It was a game of both movement and eye-lines. Each of you would rove your eyes up and down the other, trying to catch the opponent in the act, making that split second of contact before drawing away to brush noses, to shift grip slightly. You weren't kissing yet, no, this was all about will. Who could tempt the other into making the first move.

"I believe I asked you to give me a kiss." Rose whispered, growing a bit bored of the game.

The softest brush of your lips over hers, making that eye-contact.

"Is that what you want?" you asked.

Rose's eyebrow quirked, and then she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in response. The kiss wasn't as soft as you would have made it had you been administering the kiss. Rose kept you steady with a hand on your hip, a hand in your hair, her mouth occupied with yours. You forced yourself to be more engaged, even with how hungry and weak you felt. She tasted of mint tea, an undercurrent of something sour clinging to the edge of your tastebuds. It was the product of your clairvoyance, surely. Rose didn't taste quite right, a fact that lingered in the peripherals of your thoughts as you leaned into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment, seemingly amused.

"You're so chaste with your kisses. Or perhaps neat is the correct word. It's entertaining to see you so careful and focused."

Rose leaned back, dropping her hands. She easily maneuvered you out of her way, walking towards a fridge on the side of her camper. She wasn't wearing any pants, just too tight lacy panties. Her long legs were on full display, bare feet padding across her wooden floors. Her motions were all so elegantly careless, like she didn't much care what kind of gesture she made, so much as things landed in their respective places.

"Eggs alright with you?" she sighed.

"Yes, thank you."

Rose hummed in reply, starting up her gas powered stove top. She cracked open three eggs, reaching into the fridge for chives, cheddar cheese and bacon bits. It smelled good.

"You're pale, drink this."

A glass of orange juice appeared in front of you, and Rose looked down at you with some amusement.

"Like a startled lamb, freezing up in front of a newcomer." she laughed.

You drank the juice, grateful for the liquid. You weren't really paying attention to where your eyes rested as you drank, you were too tired to focus on much else other than the motion of your throat as you drank down the juice.

"I look that good do I?" Rose teased, grabbing your chin and angling it up.

You'd been staring at her upper thighs. Being so tall, Rose's legs filled much of your central and peripheral vision as you spaced out. The couch was low to the ground, and her stance gave a clear view of her inner thighs and the patch of dark hair that clung around her bikini line.

"Sorry, spaced out." you blushed, face going hot with the weight of your embarrassment.

Rose chuckled, squishing your face in soft teasing. She took the glass out of your hand, returning to the stove top. She came back with three eggs piled with cheese, chives and bacon. An American breakfast classic. You ate quickly, and the miserable tightness of your stomach gradually subsided.

"Perhaps you'd like to lay down on the bed and take a nap." Rose suggested.

You nearly choked on your bite of egg. The memory and the feeling of being forcefully deepthroated through Rose's eyes still clung to the back of your mind.

"Uhh, no. Not the bed. Couch is fine."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking away the plate of food you were still working on.

"Why? My hedonistic escapades still haunt you?" Rose threw your earlier internal monologue right back at you. "My sexcapades?"

You looked up at her in pure disbelief and jaded embarrassment. Rose wore a shit eating grin, leaning in as she grabbed your chin.

"Poor thing, thought you were the only one with the ability to skim someone's foremost thoughts, huh?" Rose cooed. "Maybe that's what we'll do.. Re-enact that little fixation of yours, get it out of your system."

You found yourself shaking your head and stuttering, hands searching for something to grab onto.

"Mhm, oh you're getting all flustered just thinking about it." Rose grinned cruelly, pulling you up to her feet. "What a perfect way to settle our debt, huh? We'll re-enact one of the memories you collected."

This time, you ardently shook your head, getting over your momentary bout of shyness.

"No, I didn't have control over what I was seeing, I didn't want to-"

"Shush, honey pie." Rose cut you off, pushing you to sit on the bed. "It'll be fun, we'll go slow-ish."

Rose stretched, settling on the bed beside you. She dusted off her hat, gingerly setting it off to the side. Hands looped around your waist, drawing you in.

"You'll like it, I promise." Rose whispered, leaning in to nip at your jaw and ear.

As she placed little love bites over your face and neck, her hands massaged slow patterns on your waist and back. You let out a soft sigh, leaning into her little nips and kisses.

"There you go, warming up to me perfectly." Rose cooed. "Touch me."

Your hands obeyed, cupping her lower face and neck. She placed a slow kiss in the crook between your jaw and neck, opening her lips to suck softly at the skin there. A soft moan broke out of your throat, to which Rose replied with her own throaty hum. One of your legs crept up to straddle her, and a hand from your waist quickly caught your leg, aiding the motion.

"Oh, good girl." Rose whispered. "Warming up nicely."

You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against hers. Her lips caught yours in a kiss, her tongue sliding out to caress your lip. You met her tongue with yours the longer the kiss went on, teasing her with your tongue. Rose's hands slid down your back, taking handfuls of your ass and massaging slowly. You moaned immediately, allowing Rose to slip her tongue into your mouth. Your hands were in her hair, playing with the half-braided strands that clung to the base of her scalp.

"Ready for more?" Rose rasped, one hand gripping your rear, the other drawing patterns down your spine.

"Yes." you found yourself saying.

Rose pulled off her top, freeing her breasts entirely. She brought your hands to them, biting her lip playfully.

"Touch, squeeze."

You did as she asked, to which she rewarded you with a sinfully teasing kiss.

"Lay down, top off."

You did as directed, pulling off your shirt, and the loose sports bra she'd found you in. Rose rummaged around in a drawer near the bedside for a moment, grabbing several Items. You watched as she slipped off her underwear, pulling a plain looking black set over her thighs again. A remote, which she clicked just twice. Rose bit her lip immediately, wiggling her hips a few times. A fake dick, a harness. You blushed as you realized just what she was going to do.

"I've never... I can't suck dick." you blurted out.

Rose laughed, sliding the harness over her hips.

"Too bad. You're gonna. And if you leave teeth marks on my nice silicone cock I'll throttle you."

Rose settled between your thighs, dragging your leggings and underwear down in one motion. She spread your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your inner labia. Taking a moment to gather saliva in her mouth, Rose leaned down, spitting on your red, erected clit.

"There's something you can focus on while I stretch your throat."

Rose crawled over you in a traditional 69, slapping the silicone dick on your chin.

"Open."

You could see the soft blur of the panties as they vibrated, producing a noticeable wet spot on the black fabric. Opening your mouth as wide as you could, you were careful not to graze the silicone with your teeth. The saliva Rose had placed on your clit slowly began to drip down and cool, producing a maddening sensation. Leaning forward all the way, Rose propped herself up on her elbows, holding your thighs open.

"Breathe through your nose, deep breath, now relax."

Rose pushed her hips down, forcing the silicone past your molars, past your uvula and down into the hollow space of your throat. You gagged, grabbing at her hips and thighs, desperately trying to push away the weight on your head that bore down. Rose laughed as she heard you gag and choke, letting up after fifteen seconds. You sputtered, nose running and eyes blurry with tears.

"Catch your breath, I'll give you fifteen."

Fifteen seconds felt more like five, and the silicone was back down, further this time. You couldn't breathe through your nose, and the burn of your lungs mixed with the stretch of your throat was both terrifying and maddeningly difficult to get away from. Rose let up after a moment, and you were quick to breathe in through your nose, filling your lungs as rapidly as you could, exhaling shortly thereafter. The next time, you breathed in through your nose as the dick slid down your throat, forcing the muscles of your throat to relax. Rose hummed in approval, pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

"Good girl. Now I'm going to rock. If you absolutely cannot manage to get any air in, two taps to my hips, got it?"

Rose didn't wait for you to make any sort of noise or gesture in understanding, she just undulated her hips slowly. You exhaled with every thrust out, inhaling as she thrust in. Your lungs slowly began to accommodate the lack of air, your throat muscles relaxing. Rose kissed your clit again, humming carefully as she rolled her tongue in slow circles over your clit. You found yourself getting the hang of things, more focused on the sensations between your legs than the burn of your throat. Rose's own stimulation was heightened by the pull and stretch of the vibrating panties that shifted with every movement of her hips. You moaned as she licked down into your entrance, and Rose let out a breathy hum in response.

Her mouth settled at your entrance, licking and probing gently. You gripped her hips, helping to support her thrusts. Overtime, your nose brushed her clothed clit as the base of the strap met your lips, adding direct pressure to the vibrating panties. Rose moaned loudly at this sensation, fervently kissing and licking your open pussy. Your lower abdominal muscles coiled rapidly, and by the way Rose was growing sloppy with her thrusts, she must have also been close.

Warm tingles slid up your spine as you climaxed, and your moans were muffled by the strap. Rose slipped the silicone dick out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp and moan through your orgasm without threat of suffocation. Still relatively aware, you had the forethought to find her clit through the panties and rub circles over the vibrating fabric. Rose let out a series of breathy whimpers, pushing her hips back into your thumb until she too climaxed. In need of a place to rest her weary hips, Rose sat back, resting on your face. A mouthful of panty-clad pussy and an eye-full of ass was all you knew for a good fifteen seconds.

"Fine then." Rose sighed, sliding off of you after you tapped the side of her ass twice.

Rose looked down, eyeing your puffy, tear and snot covered face. She smirked, reaching for something on her bedside table. A polaroid camera, one that had to be from the 90s. She snapped a photo of your frazzled state, taking out the photo produced and grabbing a pen.

"What shall we name this one? 'Belligerent collector', perhaps."

Rose gave an evil grin, sliding off the vibrating panties and casting them aside. She swung one of her legs over your face, angling her still wet core over your mouth. Another snap of the camera, capturing your mortified eyes as your mouth was obscured by her vulva.

"And this one we'll title 'debt settled'."

<------------->

[monayen]

I love your stories! Perfect for feeding my bedtime delusions ♥️

Can I request something for ratman 3? Him & reader waiting out a threat in a too small hiding spot so they’re pressed against each other. The danger and close proximity make 3 noticeably excited…

Cramped | Ratman 3

➷ Paring - Ratman 3 x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - dry humping, biting, very light description of violence, WHIMPERING

a/n - first ratman with a fic, isn't he special :-] ? sad state of affairs as i recently broke my phone (which i always write on) so i am now confined to my laptop. ignore any mistakes or formatting issues, i kept getting distracted trying to make a ranfren twitter. (i needed a phone number to do it D-:)

“Quiet, okay?” you whisper to the trembling ratman beside you, his forehead damp with fear as you guide him through narrow passageways.

Cramped spaces were second nature to you. Crawling between walls, squeezing through vents—it was how you’d survived since your formation. Open spaces were death traps, especially for vermin trying to get by in the confusing Ivory house.

Ratman 3 nods, his beady eyes darting nervously behind his round glasses as you move together, your bodies pushing through the tight crawl space.

“We need to bring something back this time,” you whisper, voice low and urgent. “I’m so sick of eating drywall.”

Behind you, his shaky voice follows. “I-I think it’s… fine, actually.” He mumbles, barely convincing even himself. You both know the truth. The shared bags of chips, warm beer, and crumbs of crackers disappear far too quickly in the nest. Rationing isn’t exactly an option for a group who can’t count.

Disputes over who should venture out into the Ivory’s pantry have become routine—bickering and rounds of makeshift card games determining the unlucky rat. This time, you and 3 drew the short straws. Though, you’re pretty sure Michael Jr. cheated.

The path weaves through chewn holes in the drywall and vents and pipes you two squeeze through. It'd be borderline claustrophobic for any other person, and it's even worse with how the blonde ratman clings behind you like a meat shield.

You glance back at your companion, his eyes wide and darting, every sound seeming to send a shiver through his scrawny frame. He's following behind, almost pushing against you in the narrow space.

“Keep it together,” you mutter, more to yourself than him. Ratman 3 gulps and shakes his head, “Let's just go back. I think I have a granola bar stashed away somewhere–”

You’re about to reply when heavy footsteps echo from the other side of the wall, cutting off whatever quip was on your tongue.

Ratman 3 freezes, chest heaving, his body trembling as he grabs your arm. You shoot him a warning look, silently pleading for silence. The footsteps are joined by multiple voices.

It’s the brothers that live here. The older one seems to be scolding the younger one, though you can't seem to piece together the context behind his words. You listen carefully as a deeper, gruffer voice says something short. Though it's enough that you both instantly recognize easily who it is, making your blood run cold. 

3 immediately panics, his flight instincts kicking in as he silently urges you two to leave. Your heart beats in your ears, but still you motion for him to stay put. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the tight space you're accustomed to suddenly pressing down with suffocating intensity. Claustrophobia creeps in, tightening your chest as the weight of the situation sinks deeper—you’re trapped. Any noise, any creaking movement, and you're sure they’ll hear.

Ratman 3 shifts nervously, pressing his body tightly against your figure as he tries to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space. 

“The catman will leave soon,” you whisper as softly as possible in an attempt to soothe him. But even in the dark between the walls, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked breaths.

You feel him shift again behind you, and you almost turn back to whisper for him to quit moving before you two get killed. That's when you notice a poking on your behind, and how shaky 3’s breathing really is against your neck.

“Are you fucking hard right now?” You say too softly, still concerned about being caught to let your baffled thoughts run out your mouth. 

Your words hang in the air as Ratman 3 freezes behind you, his body trembling even more than before. 

"I-I'm sorry!" he whispers, his voice cracking with panic. "I can't help it! It's just... being this close to you, in this tight space... It's..." He trails off, and you can almost sense the mix of embarrassment and excitement radiating off him.

Ratman 3's body tenses as he tries to suppress his arousal, but it's becoming more and more difficult for him to stay still. The confined space, the adrenaline rush from the potential danger, and the proximity all makes your heart beat faster and his dick harder. Both of you need to urgently relax, or you’ll be torn out the walls and have your guts spilled all over the floor.

Ratman 3's breath hitches as he grips your hips, his panting becoming more frantic. You can feel the contagious feverish sensation of his arousal pressing onto you, the friction of his pants rubbing against your own sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Ah," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I need..." His words trail off into a low moan as he holds up, the tight space tenfolding every sensation.

Pure heat radiates from his body, his breathing growing even more labored as he struggles to maintain any sort of composure. The poking sensation touching your ass is becoming more and more insistent, and you can sense the desperation for any type of relief on his flushed face.

Your own desire is growing, your body responding to the closeness and the danger of the situation. You lean forward, bracing yourself against the wall as you feel Ratman 3's hands sliding under your shirt, his fingers resting the curve of your waist and hips.

"We can't," you breathe, "They'll hear us."

But Ratman 3 seems beyond reason, his body mindlessly continuing to shift. He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear as he whispers, “Please,” his voice a desperate plea. “I’ll be good.”

His small movements grow more frantic, his pelvis grinding slightly for any sense of relief. The tight space amplifies every sensation, his arousal pressing insistently against you. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and you can hear the neediness in his voice as he whispers, "I can't stop, please don't stop me."

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice trembling with tension. You're acutely aware of the muffled sounds from beyond the drywall, and how even the slightest noise could expose you both. Despite the risk, you brace the wall, offering him more leverage, your heart racing as excitement pools in your empty stomach.

He takes up the welcoming position immediately, biting back a groan as his hips begin to roll off of yours. The rub of fabric makes 3 shudder, his head tipping back and almost hitting the wall behind him. His hand slides down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulls your hips against him. The pressure of his erection is too much to ignore, and you can feel your own arousal dampening between your legs.

You gasp softly as Ratman 3 speeds up against you, the friction getting rougher and rougher as pleasure waves through your body. He moves excitedly, taking in the softness of you cramped in front of him. He bucks his hips shamelessly, desperate and unrhythmic.

“Fuck," you exhale, your voice trembling slightly. You glance back just enough to catch the fog on his glasses, his beady eyes pinched as he nibbles on his lip to bite back too loud of moans. The smallest of whimpers still escape his mouth, his body tensing over and over again as he holds onto you. You press your cheek against the cool wall, trying to muffle the sounds of your own excitement as Ratman 3 continues to rut against you.

Ratman 3's breathing grows heavier, his movements becoming impossibly more erratic as he quickly chases his orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his body pressing against your back, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," he whimpers, his hips thrusting urgently against yours. You're about to shush him, but a touch on your chest surprises you. His clammy hand moves from your hip to under your shirt, groping and squeezing frantically. He leans forward, giving a final rut of his hips against your ass before his teeth sink into your shoulder to suppress any loud moan that was going to spill out of him.

You almost gasp too loudly, but you catch yourself and clench your jaw to choke back the sound. Ratman 3 lets out a strangled whimper against your shoulder, his body tensing as he buries his face into your skin. He quickly comes into his pants, fully pressed onto your ass as his cock twitches and pulses, riding out his orgasm. You purse slightly, feeling the warmth of his release soaking through and staining your clothes.

Ratman 3 slumps against you, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. You can feel his heart racing, matching the pounding of your own as you both struggle to catch your breath.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the smallest creak of the walls around you. You hold your breath, coming back to the reality of how dangerous of a spot you are right now. 

You listen for any sign of the family, anxiety tugging at your gut as you wait for any sign that both your presences have been discovered. But the voices have moved on, their footsteps fading into the distance as they go down the hall.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief, turning around to face Ratman 3 with the little space you have. Ratman 3 lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the darkness. There's a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction in his gaze, and you can't help but smirk at the sight.

He shifts slightly, wincing at the sticky mess in his pants. His eyes dart down to the stain on the fabric, and his face flushes an even deeper shade of crimson.

“I, um... I guess I made a bit of a mess,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze in embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes.”

You shrug, trying to downplay the rush of adrenaline in your chest. “Don’t worry; at least we weren’t caught.”

Ratman 3 nods, quickly wiping his brow and smoothing down his rumpled shirt. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, then stammers, “S-So… you wanna… uh, share that granola bar?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Oh Rollo, you may think Raven is naive in her thinking, but I believe it takes a strong heart to be willing to see all sides of a person as a writer looks at the different facets of a character. Perhaps you should go out and have lunch with her, have a chat about your opinion on heroes and villains in stories. Should be enlightening to you.

[Referencing this post!]

Will Today be the Day?

"I refuse to dine in the cafeteria."

Rollo had made it clear where he stood on the matter as soon as lunch hour came around. He cited a great many things to support his decision: the noise, the number of bodies crammed into one room, his stomach's delicate constitution.

Raven raised an eyebrow at his claims, but tactfully avoided questioning them. This was as polite as Rollo was going to get about wanting a moment of peace and quiet away from the mages he so despised—she had to cherish it.

"You can't tour the campus on foot and skip a meal in the middle of it. It's not healthy," she had told him. "If you won't eat in the cafeteria, then stay here. I'll fetch you something that's hopefully palatable."

He'd been waiting on a bench for a little over 20 minutes now, eating up almost half of the allotted time for lunch.

What is taking her so long? Rollo expelled a sigh into his handkerchief. Perhaps he had overestimated one simple-minded bird's abilities to gather food. If I wanted it done properly, I would have done it myself.

As the remnants of that thought fizzled out, it was replaced by the awareness of approaching foot steps. Quick-footed but light, as if their soles were barely touching the ground. Almost flighty in quality.

Rollo looked up—and there she was, Raven jogging at him with a paper bag overflowing with breads. A light sheen of sweat crowned her brow, and her cheeks were colored apple blossom pink from exertion.

She halted before him, bent over with one hand on her knee to collect her breath.

“Rollo-senpai!! Thank you for waiting,” Raven gasped out. “It was a war zone in the cafeteria today, everyone clamoring for the best food items…! But fortunately for me, the ghost chefs gifted me with whatever they couldn’t sell and yesterday’s leftovers. They’re a little stale, but still perfectly good!”

She thrust out the paper bag. Loaves and rolls of varying shapes, sizes, and textures peered out from it.

Rollo slowly nodded in approval. “I see. How prudent of you to save bread that would have otherwise gone to waste.”

He reached for a croissant—and at the same time, Raven plucked a sesame seed studded bun and tore it in half, then into even smaller bits. Rollo stared. She scattered the crumbs at her feet, paying him no mind.

“… What are you doing?”

The girl smiled softly. "It's everyone's lunch time.”

Then, turning away, Raven cupped a hand to her mouth and released a trilling song. It was a wordless tune, just a few cheery, rising notes.

The eager flapping of many pairs of wings filled the air. Moments later, a plethora of birds descended from the skies. They spread out—at Raven’s feet, on her arms, in her hair.

Rollo almost choked on day-old croissant.

“Wh-What in the world…?!”

Some birds started pecking at the crumbs. Others—mainly the ones nesting on Raven—twittered in greeting. She giggled and twittered back, her tongue twisting into forms Rollo couldn’t comprehend.

"You're proficient in animal languages,” he said faintly.

“Just the avian ones,” Raven clarified. “… Oh, and they say hello. Mr. Pigeon mentioned you seem irritable.”

Rollo frowned—not taking well to the comments. Instead of returning the greeting, he asked, “Why are you supplying the local vermin with food? You feed pests and they’ll return for more, be it rats, raccoons, stray dogs or cats, or… birds.”

There was a collective gasp from the flock, even the ones with their beaks crammed with crumbs.

“Shhh, don’t listen to him. He’s just a little crabby today,” Raven cooed to them. “He’s not usually like this.”

They stared back doubtfully.

“… Okay, he’s usually worse.”

“You shouldn’t enable them,” Rollo continued sternly. “Whatever it is you’re telling them, it must be something foolishly naive.”

“Nest in his hat,” a blue jay declared, “or in his ugly hair. That’ll teach him.”

“No, no, poop on his shoes. Humans hate that,” a dove suggested.

“Want us to peck his eyes out?” a robin offered.

“I’ll eat his liver,” a canary said sweetly, “like the eagle did in the tale of the Fire Thief.”

Raven shook her head at the needlessly aggressive birds. She knelt, letting the birds on her flutter or climb down to join the others, then took a seat herself beside Rollo. A moment of silence elapsed before she spoke again.

“If I recall correctly, the people in the City of Flowers look after community goats. The stories say that goats will come to help you in your time of need—and that’s where the tradition comes from.”

Rollo snorted. “You think songbirds will come to your aid?”

“I’m not being nice to them expecting something in return. I think… with the passage of time, something that started off with a reason behind it just becomes natural and routine. Something genuine.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Not everything has an answer,” she replied mysteriously. “… In any case, this is our lunch period so we should unwind rather than spending it worrying over the details.”

“Your feathered friends look like they want to commit murder,” he commented stiffly.

“Maybe they wouldn’t look like that if you hadn’t insulted them to their faces?”

“The offer’s still on the table,” the peck-happy robin piped up.

“Hmph. I don’t understand why you indulge these pitiful creatures as you do. There is nothing to be gained from associating with them.”

“Maybe you see it that way, but I don’t.” Raven folded her arms and tilted her head to one side. “I like to think of it like this: every living being is the protagonist of its own story—but because of that, it also makes them a supporting character in other peoples’ stories. No one is a hero or a villain by default, they only become that through the lenses of other’s stories and interpretations. That’s why I try to give the benefit of the doubt and second chances.”

She waved a hand at the feasting cluster of birds. “Animals too, are protagonists and supporting characters. They lead their own lives, tell their own stories, and uphold our own as well. They deserve to be treated with the same dignity as you or I.”

Rollo grimaced. He could no longer get his croissant down—not comfortably, at least.

“… You may see yourself as a savior, but others may think differently.” Raven placed a hand on her chest. “But redemption is not yet out of reach. Even villains can have happily ever afters, and not necessarily at the cost of ‘turning good’. Fairy tales have evolved beyond the black and white binary.”

Rollo eyed her warily. The birds all seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation for his response.

“… You speak like the heroes with bleeding hearts from those very same stories,” he said at last. “You think yourself superior?”

“Not at all. I’m simply an outside observer. I can have faith and make wishes upon stars because I can see the potential overflowing from each and every character.

“What a childish way of viewing the world. It’s a fool’s dream.”

“But a dream nevertheless—and if it can be dreamed, then it’s a very real possibility.”

“Hmph. Has anyone ever told you that you have the imagination of a child?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Rollo-senpai."

“Of course you would.”

"You have a strong imagination yourself." Granted, it typically involves mages being extinguished in a blazing hellfire but that’s neither here nor there.

Raven shrugged and stuck her hand into the bread bag and rummaged around in it. She retrieved a slice of milk bread and chomped down.

“… Are you really going to spend your entire lunch griping? Let’s enjoy this moment. It’s not everyday when we have such good weather and unique company.”

Rollo said nothing more—the strained conversation was over. Pointless and unfruitful, as he had suspected it to be from the very beginning.

Sitting side by side, they munched on bread and avoided eye contact for the remainder of the period. Bird watching and drinking in the day together.

[oops-it-happened-again]

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 2

It bears repeating, I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Also, I love Alicent, but - for the purpose of this fic - she's a villain :D

<- Chapter 1

Tags: @mamawiggers1980

Ellyn sets her plan into motion. It does not go as expected or desired, and she soon finds herself in hot water.

Words: 3,5k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy, mild violence, threats, sexual subtext & tension

Despite Hala’s protests, Ellyn proceeded to corner a poor woman leaving a nearby pillow house and convinced her to sell her the worn, translucent shift on her very body.

“This is a terrible idea,” her maid insisted again. “This city’s crawling with vermin—you don’t want to stay here. Let’s go home.”

Hala bit her lip guiltily. “If you’re lucky, none of you has to marry him. He might well die in the war he’s started.”

She knew that it was treason to say such a thing out loud, but she’d served Ellyn for too long and too faithfully to want to see her mistress bound to an amoral monster.

Having been all but born into service to the family, Hala had never known a life without Ellyn—they had been childhood companions and mutual adolescent confidantes, and, on many an ill-advised adventure, they’d only relied on each other before.

“My father gave his word, and I intend to keep it,” Ellyn replied in a steely tone. “I shall find out what I need to know, and then we can turn back.”

Sighing in exasperation, Hala thus dutifully followed her into the meandering labyrinth of King’s Landing’s smaller, less reputable streets.

They took a room in a small inn, and Hala would have much preferred if they’d asked the serving wench to bring up a plate of cold meat and dark bread, but Ellyn insisted on eating in the common room instead.

“Your grandsire has loved you too much,” the maid muttered disobligingly. “He’s spoiled you and given you strange notions about danger.”

“That may be so,” Ellyn agreed, “but I want to listen to what the people say.”

Unfortunately, they learned little and less. The smallfolk’s worries were centred around mundane considerations like the tightening blockade and the imminent end of summer rather than the intrigues of the crown.

From what she could gather from eavesdropping discreetly, those who did take an interest were rarely of one mind when it came to the “rightful” heir. One thing seemed clear, though, few were those who liked Aemond.

He was deemed useful, and the sheer size of his dragon was a source of reassurance and dread alike, but the man himself seemed to be but a bitter-tasting afterthought.

“Let’s retreat,” Hala pleaded again once their dinner had been consumed and their tankards emptied. “There’s nought more to be learned tonight.”

And, as much as Ellyn yearned to stay in the crowded, smoky room and listen to strangers talk about things she didn’t understand, she finally gave in.

She didn’t want to be found out too early by lingering overlong, so she let her faithful maid lead her away to where none would find her.

It felt as if she’d only just settled on the lumpy mattress when Ellyn awoke once more to the sound of distant wailing.

Being no stranger to ominous commotions in the middle of the night, she leapt up and padded to the window—the flimsy curtain felt greasy and grimy beneath her clammy fingers, and when she pulled it aside, she found that the street was alight with torches.

“What is it?” Hala joined her by the small cut-out in the rough wall.

“If only I knew,” Ellyn whispered, wishing desperately that her grandfather Boremund was alive still. He would have known what to do and how to act—he’d have instructed her on how to deal with his son’s potential overreaching and the prospect of wedlock.

As the two women looked on, spellbound, people hurried to and fro frantically, banging on doors and spreading their seemingly monumental tidings.

It took another hour at least for Ellyn and Hala to overhear a conversation outside the door to the small lodging house.

“They say the heir has been murdered—it was surely that one-eyed degenerate they were looking for. The King…”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed hastily as a tall, dark-clad, eerily familiar figure pushed its way through the throng of gossipmongers ruthlessly without even taking the time to inquire what had happened.

“It cannot be,” Hala whispered. “By the Seven—it mustn’t be. This is not a safe place, Milady, let’s leave now.”

Every fibre in Ellyn’s being knew that her maid was right, but she couldn’t overcome her instinctive reluctance.

“Someone is trying to murder one who might soon be my brother-in-law,” she murmured pensively.

“And a good thing too,” Hala hissed vehemently. “Cassandra can’t have him, he won’t have Maris, and you wouldn’t let him have Floris. So he might well be destined to become your Lord.”

“If that is so,” Ellyn whispered. “Is it not my duty to stand by him in his time of need?”

“Certainly not,” Hala exclaimed, clutching at her shoulders. “Come away, Milady, I beg you!”

“If he comes back tomorrow, Hala,” Ellyn said without taking her eyes off the milling street below. “I shall go down and enact my plan. I must know what kind of man he is.”

Clenching her teeth, Hala resolved that—if Aemond turned out to be even half the beast people thought him to be—she’d kill him with her own two hands.

“Where were you?” Alicent hissed, her eyes wide and frantic.

She reminded Aemond of a horse about to bolt through solid wood and cutting cables in its sheer panic.

“I was out,” he replied calmly. “Where’s my sister?”

When his mother’s eyes grew cold and hard, Aemond realised that he’d disappointed her once again. He’d failed to ask about his brother, his king, and she was eager to take this omission as an offence.

“Father has informed me that you were happy enough to plot behind our backs,” she hissed. “But when we needed you, you were nowhere to be found.”

Pressing his lips together so tightly it hurt to keep from asking where she had been when her grandson and the future of a tottering realm had been murdered in his bed, Aemond weathered her helpless disdain as he always had.

She didn’t even bother to dismiss him—the dowager queen simply drifted out of the room without another word, leaving him to his private thoughts and regrets.

All eyes were now on the royal family—the people wanted to see the bereaved mother and Viserys’s dignified, mournful widow while Aegon raged, and Otto connived coldly.

In this game of appearances, there was no place for one for whom nobody—not even his own kin—felt any sympathy.

Thus, Aemond stayed in the background, musing about Daemon’s daring plot obsessively; he was flattered to be considered so awful a threat, but he also felt unbearably guilty.

This was the second boy who’d been wrenched from his mother because of him. Of course, Aemond knew that he was but one part in the ponderous, terrible machine of war and succession, but he resented the fact that, rather than being an innocent cog, he was the teeth of the very monstrosity grinding his family to dust.

As the night wore on, he had to wonder whether his mother or grandsire would have taken such drastic measures if it had been Alicent’s second-born who’d been killed in an unfortunate accident. Probably not.

The next day, he was in a constant state of readiness. Nobody called on him to represent—Aemond should not have been surprised by that, but it hurt nevertheless to realise how little he was valued beyond his martial prowess.

The bitterness ebbing and surging within his tight throat was profoundly undignified, and—when at last he could take the silent rooms and empty halls no more—he fled the Keep to find solace in the arms of one who’d never denied him.

Of course, Madame Silvi was paid handsomely for her services, but he liked to imagine that she cared for him at least a little.

Here, in this pit of squalor and sin, he could shed the mask of cold indifference and haughty self-aggrandization to admit that he regretted the whole incident that had triggered such an avalanche of misery.

She listened—she understood.

“I’ll be right back,” the ageing prostitute whispered tenderly—she’d heard one of the younger girls squeal and wanted to make sure none of their patrons was taking more than he’d paid for.

Sitting up slowly, Aemond focused on the ribald jokes and raucous laughter just outside the small alcove.

“You’re not one of mine,” he heard Silvi hiss threateningly a short time later.

Helpless anger for which he’d yet to find an outlet coursed through his blood as Aemond slipped back into his breeches and strode out forcefully.

Following the familiar voice, he found Silvi clasping the slender wrist of a young girl whose dark, flashing eyes darted around the brothel nervously.

At a glance, he could tell that the shrewd lady of the night was right—not only was that pale girl not employed in this establishment, Aemond was even sure that she was no whore at all.

The teeth she bared in a rictus of panic were well-kept, and her even features were devoid of any trace of paint or other artifice.

“I’ll take care of this,” he grunted. “Say nothing to anyone—I’ll pay you well.”

Half-turning, Silvi gazed upon his face for a long moment, pondering, before she nodded curtly. “Very well. Do you require anything?”

“Wine,” Aemond said with a dangerously sharp smile. If this girl was one of the conspirators sent by Daemon, he’d find out soon enough.

“Take the last booth,” Silvi instructed. “I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed.”

As soon as her beringed hand was withdrawn, Aemond’s closed like a vice around the slim wrist.

“Come!”

Thus, he dragged the feebly struggling stranger through a dirty curtain into a secluded half-room. “So, you’ve infiltrated a brothel, pretending to be a whore,” he drawled.

Ellyn’s stomach was in knots—she’d imagined this to go quite differently and cursed herself now for not having listened to Hala’s wise counsel.

“I am,” she said as firmly and assertively as she could.

“Prove it,” the Prince demanded, sitting down on the edge of the overly perfumed couch taking up most of the small alcove. “Go ahead!”

The object of her dangerous curiosity had evidently come to the aid of the madam in a haste for he wore neither tunic nor shoes.

Even more curious than this comparable state of nudity was the fact that he’d not bothered to don the eyepatch he was known to wear whenever he was seen in public.

As her mouth grew dry and her tongue heavy, Ellyn had to admit to herself that this sordid establishment could probably not fully be counted as “public”.

Aemond, oblivious to how flustered his bare chest and firm stomach made her, sucked his teeth impatiently.

His evident disbelief irked her, so Ellyn stepped forward brazenly but then stopped again, unsure of what to do next.

She’d never had a lover, and it showed.

Moreover, she was still overwhelmed by how quickly and inexorably she’d found herself enmeshed in an undeniable catastrophe.

How had she been to foresee that the eagle-eyed bawd would catch on almost instantly?

She’d wanted to learn more about Prince Aemond, but she’d never expected to be faced with the man himself—especially in such a shocking state of undress.

“Gods,” she sighed, lifting a hand as if to touch his cheek as the flickering light from the tapers flashed across the precious stone wedged into his shapely skull. “That must have hurt!”

An expression of genuine surprise, at once chased by something hardened and hurt, rippled across his face.

“You’re not convincing, girl,” he said in a cold tone.

Ellyn realised that she had to move lest she make a bad situation worse by regrettable indecision, so she went to him, straddling his thighs and pressing a coy kiss upon the corner of his mouth.

Before she could so much as congratulate herself for this brave act, he’d thrown himself around, pinning her wrists above her head and pressing her into the dirty mattress with his full weight.

“I knew it,” he snarled. “Of all the things a whore does willingly for the right sum, kisses are the one they are notoriously avaricious about. Who are you?”

Rearing up frantically against him, Ellyn—bereft of her hands to claw herself out—tried to kick and bite in her desperate attempt to break free from his painfully firm hold.

“Dirty spy! Murderess!” he spat, his one eye wide with boundless ire.

Ellyn turned her head in a vain attempt to shield her face from the blows she anticipated—she didn’t understand the terrible accusations he laid at her feet, and her mind was too befuddled with existential fear to even try to make sense of it.

“I came for you,” she whimpered.

“That’s what I thought. Go on then, here I am,” he said, his voice tired and hollow now as he lifted himself halfway off her and extended his arms. “Do your worst.”

Aemond flinched when those soft lips brushed against his own once more so hesitantly that it could hardly be called a proper kiss.

“Did it hurt very much? Did they have to reopen the wound to…put this in?” the woman asked, tracing the scar marring half of his face reverently.

He was about to ask her once more who she was when the shifting light unburied a confused memory in his mind.

“I’ve seen you before,” he whispered thoughtfully.

The hand espousing the sharp line of his cheek now was soft and free of calluses, and the youthful face blurring in and out of focus before his solitary eye was fresh and smooth.

Furthermore, he could make out a hint of violets and rain in the discreet scent emanating from her skin—she was high-born, and probably very far from home.

“Stand!” he rasped, peeling himself off her soft, yielding flesh.

His unrestrained violence had left dark bruises on her creamy skin, and he shivered in disgust at this renewed reminder of his poor self-control.

She did as she was told without protest, though, and—as he drank in the voluptuous curves beneath the all-but-transparent shift—he felt his body react with visceral hunger while his mind was still entangled in the puzzle of her identity.

He was convinced that she was not a base-born prostitute, yet she was undeniably bare underneath the borrowed or stolen garment, and he was tempted to take her at her word. If only for one night of blissful oblivion which he needed so desperately.

The strange maiden with the sensuous mouth had the face of a girl, but the swell of her chest and the roundness of her hips told him that she was indeed a woman fully grown.

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his unwavering inspection, and the soft light dancing across her sweet features finally made the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“You’re one of Baratheon’s daughters,” he gasped, struggling to comprehend how that could be true.

“Ellyn,” she confirmed softly and curtsied. “We’ve not yet had the pleasure to have a conversation—your visit was…cut short.”

“What have you done? Does your father know that you’re here?” Aemond inquired tensely. They needed Storm’s End as an ally, and his blood ran cold as he realised that he’d almost destroyed yet another vital advantage by taking the girl’s maidenhead or life.

She scoffed, throwing back her long, unbound hair with a practised flick. “I’d hardly be the first young girl to lose her mind and follow a handsome knight,” she declared in the tone of one who usually had a cocky answer to even the most pertinent of questions.

Aemond willed the floor to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

“Handsome…what are you talking about, woman? Your father will have my head for this! And yours as well!”

“No, he won’t. He’ll agree with whatever lie I devise—I’m the least important of his daughters, and, if nobody knows I’ve been here, he won’t even ask where I’ve gone.”

The candid, humble way in which she presented so gruesome a truth gave Aemond pause—he’d struggled with similar thoughts earlier, but, unlike him, Lady Ellyn seemed to have made her peace with her position within her family.

“You’ve made yourself out to be a whore,” he thundered, hiding his confusion behind effervescent anger. “What for?”

“Nobody knows but you,” she smiled. “I’ve come to find out whether you’re a monster. I’m looking out for my sisters.”

At that, his face froze into a moue of disbelief.

“I am,” he then said challengingly. “What now? Are those sisters, sitting comfortably at your father’s table, worth the terrible sacrifice you were willing to make?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Always. Also, I don’t believe you.”

“You find me…in a whorehouse, in a state of disarray and undress…and yet, you don’t flee. Are you completely mad, woman?” he spat, torn between his expectation that she’d turn away in horror and his desperate hope that she wouldn’t.

“I don’t believe so, no,” she gave back conversationally and shrugged. “You’re a Prince of the Realm, and thus, it’s well within your rights to spend your nights as you see fit.”

“Have you forgotten what has transpired in the skies above your familial sanctuary?” he pressed on, determined to push her away before her candid gentility seduced him into revealing more of his pain than anybody could ever see.

“Orys Baratheon took Walter Wyl’s hands and feet as repayment for the one hand he’d lost to his father,” Ellyn shrugged. “It would be disingenuous of me to fault you for your claim, gruesome as it might have been.”

Speechless, he got up and took the carafe off the sideboard to pour the overpriced dark, heavy wine into the cheap goblets a discreet servant had put at their disposal.

“You’re one of the first people to ask me whether it hurt,” he then said without turning around. “It did. It’s a long time ago, though, and it was worth the sacrifice.”

“For the good of the realm, yes,” she replied. He could hear the creaking of the bed as she sat down again, waiting for him to hand her the drink he was holding so tightly he was afraid the stem would break off the flimsy chalice. “Nevertheless, it must have been frightening and agonising for one so young. I’m sorry.”

At last, he managed to reassert control over his limbs and turn around—he felt oddly vulnerable as he stood, bare-chested, before one so precious and noble.

Lady Ellyn’s smile was soft and dreamy as she took the glass and sipped daintily. “I thank you for your hospitality,” she said courteously. “Mayhap, I should indeed return to my father’s keep.”

Intertwining strains of greed—carnal, mental, emotional—flared to life in Aemond’s very soul.

He knew that he deserved no ruth, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of the crumbs of kindness she’d granted him even after he’d detained and hurt her in a fit of blind rage.

“You cannot,” he barked. “The roads are no longer safe, and nobody is allowed to leave the city. Haven’t you heard what has transpired?”

Her face fell, but her eyes remained dry as she met his gaze steadily. “Then, my fate is sealed. If I fail to slip back before long, my name shall be ruined, and I shall have to throw myself at the mercy of the Faith. Not the worst fate for one as me…”

“No,” he hummed. “The Red Keep has been plunged into chaos and mayhem. Everyone is much distracted by the demise of the boy. I can smuggle you in—we can claim that you’ve come to keep my sister company in her hour of grief. Surely, your father would not refute so noble an endeavour?”

“He would not,” she agreed. “Nonetheless, I’ve arrived too early for that subterfuge to be credible, I’m afraid. Where would you hide me in the meantime? As we’ve established, I’m less talented an actress than I thought I was.”

“My rooms,” he croaked. “Nobody ever seeks me out there—you’d be safe.”

“That suits me perfectly,” she grinned impishly. “As I’ve said, I find you quite delightful to look at, and I would learn as much about you as I may.”

That fragile moment of nascent understanding was rudely interrupted by the madam shoving the curtain aside roughly.

“My Prince,” she declared. “Your brother just arrived. Shall I inform you once he’s left?”

Sighing deeply, Aemond handed her the empty carafe. “Yes. We shall need more wine. I shall need my belongings as well before anyone recognises them and seeks me out.”

Turning to Ellyn, he informed her tersely that they’d have to abide a little longer.

“Very well, my Prince,” she smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf, though. I’m not offended by the absence of your usual trappings and masks.”

So, this was the second chapter.

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know! It's super sad and frustrating to write and post something without getting any kind of feedback.

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Shadowgarm

CR 2

Neutral Evil Medium Aberration

Adventure Path: Council of Thieves: The Bastards of Erebus, pg. 80-81

These grotesque, malleable predators hail from the Plane of Shadow where their frightening and ever-changing forms are as commonplace as coyotes and leopards, which coincidentally is the ecological niche they fill there. Feeding on vermin, carrion, and whatever creatures they manage to ambush, Shadowgarm are seen as dangerous pests in the Plane of Shadow, but in areas of Golarion where the barrier between light and shadow is thin, these boneless creatures can slip in through the cracks and become something all the more dangerous.

Mechanically, Shadowgarm are not harmed or even inconvenienced by normal light (magical light is different, staggering them so long as they remain in the glow!), but they have an instinctual dislike of the sun's rays which causes them to retreat during the day, cramming their distorted shapes into whatever container can accommodate them until nightfall. There are horror tales of these creatures taking up residence inside attics, cellars, or trash cans, as well as within cabinets, crevices, or crawlspaces between walls, only to be fatally discovered by someone investigating a strange noise or odd odor. Equally awful are stories of them climbing onto outcroppings (with their 30ft climb speed) or the undersides of bridges and then dropping onto prey from above like the night sky come alive and gaining a taste for flesh; horrifyingly enough, this is their go-to tactic for hunting humans. They're not animals guided by instinct; they're actually intelligent (5 Int, but still), and if placed into a new situation where prey requires different hunting methods, those methods will be adopted.

Shadowgarm in urban settings will usually satisfy themselves on garbage, vermin, and carrion, but if the opportunity arises to snatch away a lonely traveler or singular guard, you can bet they'll take it. Sneaking up on prey with their +10 Stealth, the book notes that Shadowgarm seem to draw some unusual enjoyment or perhaps even sustenance from laying in the shadow of a living creature (though not enough to prevent it from attacking), so an unaware victim may be trailed by one of these things for minutes at a time before it actually deigns to strike. Shadowgarm can Full-Attack with a trio of lashing appendages regardless of how many limbs they seem to have, each dealing only 1d4+2 damage but coating victims in a layer of Shadow Slime.

This oily black ooze coats the creature at all times, but each attack it makes can transfer a small amount of it onto their target if they fail a DC 13 Reflex save. Each time they fail, they take a cumulative -2 penalty to Dexterity... meaning that victims are caught in a negative feedback loop. Every attack forces a save, and every failed save makes the next one harder and makes the creature's next attack against them easier, and if a creature's Dex is fully engulfed by the penalty, they become entirely cocooned in the slime. Such victims are paralyzed and blinded until the slime dissolves, either an hour after the last time they were attacked, or if they remain in a source of bright light for several rounds, each round burning away a 'stack' of the slime until none remain. Y'know, provided they aren't just coup de graced by the aberration that slimed them in the first place.

The 'garms don't have a mouth or, really, any orifices to speak of, and instead eat by parking their bodies over their food. Any flesh or bone they're touching for long enough dissolves into wisps of shadow that are absorbed into their folds of their strange bodies. Victims of 'garm attacks thus disappear entirely but for piles of clothing, with not even a single bone scrap, hair, or blood spatter to mark where they once stood. To anyone who knows of these creature's feeding process, it's a sure sign of their presence, but to anyone who doesn't know, it's a sight that may make them believe the victim is still alive somewhere or trick them into thinking the culprit may be some magical kidnapper instead of a voracious predator. They may waltz into the creature's lair without knowing what they're up against.

With low AC, low HP, and no resistances or immunities (but their 7 Spell Resistance can catch low-level casters by surprise!), it may be easy to dismiss the rest of them as no threat to an armed squadron sent to exterminate them, but one cannot view such a beast in a vacuum. No, in its natural state, the Shadowgarm is a frightening and enigmatic creature that a common guard may not know how to deal with, especially since their distorted anatomy makes them seem far more fearsome than they appear, shifting and blending in with the shadows to make them appear larger or far more formidable than they look when in the light. Their Shadow Blend inflicts a 20% concealment penalty to any creature attempting to attack them when they're in dim light or darker as their forms shift and shudder unnaturally in the darkness (which stacks with any penalties a creature is suffering from if they cannot see in the dark!), and though they cannot make Intimidation checks, NPCs may lose their nerve when their blows appear to do nothing to the horrid creatures, and a descriptive DM can take several unfortunate misses in a row to make it seem like the creature is simply immune to weapon attacks.

However, like in any horror movie which relies on mounting dread and mystery to build up their monster, when you can finally SEE the monster, it becomes less scary. A single brightly lit torch takes their darkness distortion advantage and the majority of their intimidation factor away, revealing their sockpuppet-from-Silent-Hill shape to the world. Still spooky, but nowhere near as nerve-wracking! The very same torch also burns away the creature's Shadow Slime if held near enough to an affected creature, making the humble torch a must-have when going into Shadowgarm lairs even over the party all chiming in with "I have darkvision!"

You can read more about them here.

[theoceanoasis]

Turbo fox hot rod not wanting Soundwave to see him in that form

He stretched. Waking up with a yawn he looked over at Soundwave who was still asleep. He frowned because it looked like Soundwave had suddenly gotten taller or he'd gotten smaller...

He looked down in horror and immediately ran off the bed and into the bathroom. Looking at the counter he carefully climbed on top and looked in the mirror. Almost falling backwards in his surprise. Somehow over night he'd transformed into his third form, which was a Turbofox. Something he'd spent his entire life trying to hide never wanting Soundwave to find out.

Panicking he tried to transform and this time he did fall. He scrambled off the floor whimpering in pain as he did so. Trying not to wake Soundwave up as he freaked out.

He tried to transform again and had no luck. He whimpered while pacing back and forth having no idea what he was going to do. Soundwave couldn't see him like this.

He tried to transform again and was again met with failure. He whimpered tail tucked between his legs as he tried to think of what he was going to do.

He froze hearing Soundwave wake up. Panicking he looked around for a way to escape knowing he'd come looking for him. Noticing a window near the top of his bathroom. He climbed onto the counter again. Trying not to fall. He used his nails to cling onto the shower curtain and climb all the way up.

Then using his nose he pushed the window open, while listening to Soundwave shift around. He knew it wasn't going to be long now.

He looked down freezing in shock because it was a long way down.

He looked around for some way to get down because he couldn't give up now.

Spotting a pipe nearby he climbed onto it holding on as he slid down.

Noticing a balcony nearby he jumped onto it.

"Is that a turbofox?"

He jumped in surprise. Turning around to see one of his neighbors who lived a few floors down.

When they came close he yipped running into their apartment. They chased after him and he ran to their door.

Their Conjunx quickly opened it and he ran out. Not wasting any time he he flew down the hallway until he reached the stairs. He then ran down not stopping until he was out of the lobby and hidden behind another building.

Looking around everything seemed bigger now that he was a Turbofox. Noticing someone approach he hid in the shadows.

He needed to find someone to fix him quickly. He couldn't return to Soundwave like this.

He spent the entire day searching for someone to help him and had been pet, swatted at, almost kidnapped, Kicked, shot at and more. Some either thought he was cute or vermin they needed to get rid of.

Even when he tried to hide in the shadows it never seemed to work out. By the end of the day his entire body was in pain. Especially his side from where he'd been kicked. Someone had splashed water on him and now he was soaking wet. He wanted to go home but was scared of what Soundwave would think. Which is what made him hesitant.

"Hello little thing?"

He looked up in surprise to see Soundwave kneeling on the ground with his hand outstretched. He sniffed the air whimpering at the familiar smell.

"Are you hungry?"

Soundwave held up food and his stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten since last night and didn't realize how hungry he was.

Carefully he walked closer. Desperately eating the energon Soundwave gave him.

"Are you lost?"

He gave him a sad look and Soundwave carefully pet him. Only for his hand to come away with blood on it. Which probably happened when someone threw a glass at him.

"Come here let me take you home."

Unable to resist he walked closer. Letting Soundwave scoop him into his arms. He buried his face into his chest and fell asleep surrounded by his warmth and scent.

[tea-the-not-understanding]

ignore my terrible grammar. Some angst idea because I'm bored.

some warning on blood and angst (?)

*Guarana were writing out documents, reading and signing papers. Doing his usual paper works as a prince of his kingdom. He sip his drink and nearly choked when Mythical salt slowly enter his working room.*

"Hey, Dolleyes."

"Get that nickname out of your mouth. I want nothing from you." *Guarana gave Mythical Salt a glare as he goes back to paper work.*

"Oh, and should I warn you to watch your mouth? You still know that I can destroy this entire universe into dust and forgotten in a snap of my finger." *Mythical salt gave Guarana a wide grin as he slowly walk and loom over Guarana.*

*Guarana just look at the paper, his claw that holding a pen shaking from anger, so much that the pen he hold snap in two. And yet he still contain his anger and not yell at Mythical salt.* "I.. appreciate if you kindly turn around and give me some space." *he smile, hiding his anger as he look at Mythical salt.*

*Mythical salt just let out a hum and chuckle.* "Much better. But no, I still have somethings to discuss with you."

"And what may that be?" *His smile dropped and glare at Mythical salt.*

"Well, I heard about your very embarrassing defeat and losing against to not only one mortal cookie, but also a small vermin professor cookie who still roam in your castle for weeks without your notice, took that little cookie heart.. hmm, Dusty is his name?"

"Cinnamon dust. That fucking white mage cookie son."

"You almost win, You almost have everything-"

"I used to have everything!" *he slammed his hand on his desk and got up to gave Mythical a warning glare*

"Yeah you do~ You kill your father to get the throne. You change the rule of your kingdom for you to grow so much power. Just for that one specific cookie to destroy everything.~"

"I still have my subjects. I have everybody souls! I have lot of armies, and what stopping me from trying to kill you right here-"

"Oh please. You're pathetic. A mortal able to beat you and your powerful strong guards."

"......"

"But.. I don't mind sharing part of my power for some deal-"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"What ever deal that have to do with you. My answer will always be no."

"...Oh? And what about-"

"Killing my subjects, doesn't matter. I own their souls so they be resurrected. And you unable to harm my curser pets. They are being made out of magic and shadows. They can still exist without my magics."

".... hmm How lucky." *Mythical salt use his magic to pick Guarana and toss Guarana hard against the wall. He slowly walk and cornered Guarana against the wall. Looming over him.* "Any idea why your friend, Clockwork, is so scared of me?"

"....." *Guarana still glaring at Mythical salt.*

*Mythical just gave out a dark chuckle, he lean in to guarana ear and whisper*

"Because he refuse to give me what I want."

"....Is that why you're here too? You want my heart?"

"No no no, I don't want love or anybody heart. That's just a simple offering that a god can have."

"..Then what do you want?"

"Your body."

*Guarana expression from anger and annoyed, turn fear and disturbed. He look at Mythical salt*

"Love is powerful, but you know what's more powerful? Lust."

"......no.."

"Clockwork refused for so much, and when his life is on the line, his dear friend. Vanilla extract offer it instead of Clockwork. So we strike a deal, I accept that little butterfly offer with one condition. Clockwork must watch, each and every. Seconds of me, completely using that butterfly body as much as I desire."

".........." *Guarana look so pale and shivers now*

"Too bad I need consent first. But just know that I won't stop trying until I have your body."

"Also, Midway, I also did force him to eat his friend heart so, it a win - win!~" *Mythical salt slowly walk away from Guarana, humming happily*

*Guarana shaking a lot and fall, looking so horrified and shaking.* "W-Why me? There are others-"

"Oh I did! Every legendary, every ancients, beast cookies, sugar swan, millennial tree. I got so much that I were bored and tired of them. But this universe... There almost new cookies every week or month! And you are one of the new one.. Say, where are your curser pets?"

"..." *Guarana, knowing that they probably off to play with Tosuni.* "They are sleeping. Somewhere in this castle or the village, who knows."

[sunshiline-writes]

Horror November 2024 #3: BUZZARD

Word Count : 252

CW: GORE lots of gore.

____

The first thing she took a picture of was the teeth. Scattered across the asphalt, jawbone completely seperate. There were pieces of skull here and there. She took pictures of all of them. The blood was just a dark stain on the black road. Brighter on the yellow dashes of the road.

There were no brake marks anywhere. No one had even tried to stop for the body. The next thing she took a picture of was the chest cavity. Cracked open with bones splintered, organs no longer inside. It was just meat and visera and muscles. She took another picture.

The next part was the pelvis, piece of the hip still attached. This part was being eaten by the buzzards. Road kill. The comparison made her shudder. The buzzard picked at meat that hung to the bone for dear life. The sound of their beaks against the bone made her want to scream.

“Get outta here fucking vermin,” she grumbled, waving her hands close enough that the buzzards flew away, cawing around her angrily.

When she walked away from the scene, the buzzards came back. Happily eating their meal that was spread out for at least a mile along the road. Fucking scavengers. Couldn’t even let a dead person rest. She went to her car, looking back one more time, to see the scene before her. A buzzard that was near her car snapped its head toward her. In its mouth was a half an eyeball.

She vommited on the asphalt.

[dzthenerd490]

File: Children of the Corn

SCP#: AHP

Code Name: The Bloody Harvest

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: samples of SCP-AHP are grown on an 20x20 meter within a farming pact on the artificial farms of Site-AA. A single D Class is sacrificed weekly by having their blood soak into the soil where SCP-AHP instances are grown and later their bodies ground up to be used as fertilizer. Doing this ensures that SCP-AHP can grow without the assistance of Group of Interest: Children of the Corn. 

Any testing is normally done with D Class children or takes place at Site-AO’s most advanced testing area. Though testing must be approved by at least three Level 4 Clearance staff members or one Level 5. 

In the event of a containment breach, SCP-AHP samples must quickly be harvested and placed in one of the blast proof safes hidden within the floors of the artificial farms. Afterwards the crops are to be burned immediately, only after the containment breach is lifted will SCP-AHP be replanted. There is a secret safe located in [data expunged] where extra seeds of SCP-AHP and various other anomalous crops are kept but it is only accessible by the Site Director and is to only be accessed when SCP-AHP is completely destroyed. 

Description: SCP-AHP is the most basic form of the corn used in recruitment and spreading of influence for Group of Interest: Children of the Corn. SCP-AHP is a breed of mutant corn that looks no different to regular corn except for the fact that it requires blood and sacrifices in order to grow. This corn is normally mass provided by a small town already consumed by the Group of Interest having all the kids brainwashed and kill their own parents. 

They will start by sacrificing their parents to the corn through thaumaturgic rituals specific to Children of the Corn to help the SCP-AHP grow bigger and stronger than before. This ritual normally involves the bodies of the parents being hanged up like scarecrows only in this case they actually do ward away crows as well as other vermin and diseases that harm corn. As for the rest they normally continue the rituals until there’s nothing left to be done but to drain all the blood and grind up the body and feed it all to the soil of the SCP-AHP. This whole process should lead to an abundance of corn that can be grown for decades. In order to make this last longer, members of the Children of the Corn will sacrifice their members once they become of age, this will continue until all members are dead. 

While the corn has grown in good harvest, if the members are aware of any neighboring cities they will transport the corn and mix it with the local harvest to get the children to unsuspectingly eat the SCP-AHP without realizing it, allowing the whole process to begin again. 

If there are no cities or towns nearby the children will instead be compelled to go on crusades, walking down the road with weapons and SCP-AHP corn. They will hunt for a new area to plant SCP-AHP corn, new adults to sacrifice, and new children to feed SCP-AHP so they can become new members. 

SCP-AHP was discovered in 1984 after the [data expunged] incident leading to the discovery of Group of Interest: Children of the Corn. Unfortunately, by that point SCP-AHP had already spread quite far to several rural areas across the US and as a result into the hands of transportation and even Groups of Interest. This unfortunately has ensured that despite SCP-AHP being contained it is also on the loose and has ensured the continued existence of yet another hostile Group of Interest. An embarrassing and extremely grave failure of the Foundation. 

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